


Bargains

by fabricdragon



Series: ABO shuffle [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alpha Jim Moriarty, Alpha Mycroft, Alpha Sebastian Moran, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, BAMF John Watson, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Chess Metaphors, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Extremely Dubious Consent, Humiliation, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega John, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Threats, Whether this is dub con/extremedub con/ or not dub con depends on your POV- i think its dub con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-28 19:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 35,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11424471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: John Watson-soldier, doctor, secret Omega- offered Jim Moriarty his life in exchange for Sherlock's... he got more than he bargained for.Picks up as Sherlock's reputation is being destroyed, and plans are already in motion for his fall...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mickie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Deception, Conception](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085286) by [CeliaEquus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeliaEquus/pseuds/CeliaEquus). 



John had recognized Jim Moriarty for what he was at the pool. Obviously he already knew he was evil, a murderer, a terrorist; and judging from the bits and pieces he’d gotten also working with or against Mycroft– maybe both.

No, what John had recognized was that Moriarty was an Alpha.

It figured, didn’t it? Alphas and Omegas being rare as hen’s teeth in civilian life and he managed to find three: both Holmes brothers and Moriarty. Sherlock being arrogant and entitled and rude, Mycroft being all threatening and expecting everyone to cower, both of them assuming authority and ordering people around– as far as John was concerned classic Alphas.  The military Alphas tended to be more physically pushy, but it was basically the same thing; an assumption that people would just listen to them, and they usually did.

Moriarty was weird.

When John had met him as ‘Jim from IT’ he would have suspected him of being an Omega, if anything– as if you found any Omegas out working without their Alpha. He was soft, and kind, and hadn’t just shoved Molly around like Sherlock did; so not at all like an Alpha.

Until the pool… then he acted like an Alpha: standing up to Sherlock with a laugh and threatening him. John still hadn’t been sure, Alphas being so rare, until he’d had to jump on Moriarty to try to break the threat… nose right up into him you couldn’t miss it.

He’d hoped, after that, that Sherlock might show some interest, but he didn’t.

Moriarty, on the other hand, had escalated his threats, and started tearing Sherlock apart.  Once again he played a role, this time a children’s show actor, and he played it spectacularly. Coming after Sherlock’s horrible public impression during the Crown Jewels case? John was watching Sherlock’s reputation unravel.

Sherlock, though, was clearly more worried about something else.

John eavesdropped and played dumb, and pretended not to see what was going on around him.

It didn’t take much to get “JM”s contact information from Sherlock’s phone.

John made his preparations and sent a text: I’d like you to leave SH alone- JW

It didn’t take long to get a reply: I’d like a pony, so?– JM

I have a – John paused for a long time trying to think of the right word–bargain for you– JW

LOL You have nothing to offer–JM

I think I do. Meet me and find out?–JW

There was a very long pause.

Be at the pool at 6 and if anyone else follows I shoot you and he finds your corpse someplace artful–JM

Understood–JW

John kept busy.  Sure enough a call came in for Sherlock and he went running off on what John was certain was a distraction– he just prayed it was a safe distraction.

He went to the pool early.  It was quite empty, apparently “emergency maintenance”.  The security guard let him in, so one of Moriarty’s men– probably.  He went to the bathroom and gave himself the shot– they must get a lot of diabetics because they had a needle disposal: John realized that it made sense; swimming was less likely to injure a diabetic than a lot of other exercises.

He walked slowly into the changing room.  The last time he’d been in here he’d been coming up from being drugged, and kidnapped, and he’d had a bomb vest… John started shaking. He wasn’t thinking, he just had to get out of this room… he turned and ran, people grabbed him he struggled there was a lot of shouting and the world  just kept flickering from chlorine and  echoing tile to hot sand and blood…waterboarding…

He came to as his head was being pulled out of the pool. His hands were restrained behind his back, and his legs were tied together– he tasted blood in his mouth and his lungs were full of chlorine. He was gagging and retching.

“He didn’t even try to hold his breath, sir, do that again and he’ll drown.” A voice he didn’t know from one side of him said.

“If he didn’t want to drown he shouldn’t be quite so impulsive…” Jim Moriarty’s voice from the other side.

John managed to croak out, “I had a flashback.”

He heard a sympathetic hiss from someone before Moriarty continued, “You had something to offer me, Johnny-Boy? Better talk fast, my time is valuable– boys?” The two men holding him pulled him upright and turned him to face Moriarty– leaving at least one man behind him, probably the one who hissed.

Moriarty looked bored.  He was wearing a far more mainstream suit this time, but he still looked like money and power.

John coughed, trying to clear his throat, “Not Westwood this time?”

He smiled briefly at that, although it never hit his eyes, “I didn’t feel like getting blood on it.”

“I’m alone.”

“Well, I have to admire your bravery, I suppose, even if not your brains,” Moriarty smirked and walked up to where John was hanging between the two goons.

John could scarcely catch his breath and kept coughing; he felt feverish and… _Oh, the shot._

Moriarty walked up and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head up to look him in the eye, “So what could you POSSIBLY offer me to leave my dear darling Sherlock alone, hmm?”

“SIR?!” the voice from behind him sounded alarmed, and a bit strangled.

Moriarty frowned and looked over John’s shoulder, “What is it Sebie?”

“Sniff, Sir.” The voice was tense– _oh hell, he was an Alpha too…._

“It smells like a swimming pool, Sebie, what do–” Moriarty stopped talking and then turned his head into John’s cheek and sniffed.  He wrenched Johns head back further and stared down at him in shock. “You CAN’T be!  You’re MILITARY!”

“Suppressants– I’m a doctor, remember?”

“Sherlock would never have–”

“He has no idea, and no idea I’m here.” John said tiredly. “I know what an Omega is worth on the black market, even an old battered one like myself–”

He heard a groan from behind him and a muttered, “Suicidal loon.”

“Probably,” John admitted, “But the world would be a much poorer place without Sherlock Holmes in it. You said I have nothing to offer, Mister Moriarty; I think I’m worth a good bit.”

Moriarty stared at him blankly as he started to shiver with the onset of his heat. “A virginal Omega?” Moriarty said slowly, “at your age?”

“Yes. I’ve been with a few women, but–”

Moriarty waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve been on suppressants, but you’re going into heat… took yourself off of them didn’t you?” Moriarty smiled– it wasn’t friendly– “probably figured I‘d lose my head.”

“You do seem a lot…” he couldn’t think of words for a moment.

“Sebie? Handle the rest of the business for tonight; the good doctor and I have a bargain.”

“Yes, sir.” The voice was further away; the other Alpha must have backed up.

Moriarty snapped his fingers; “Bring him.” He smiled faintly and tossed John’s phone into the pool– John hadn’t even realized he’d gotten it.

He caught a brief glimpse of a tall military Alpha as the two men hauled him after Jim Moriarty. Moriarty opened the boot– it was lined with a drop cloth–“put him in there, no point in messing up the leather.”  He was picked up and shoved in, shortly after that the car started and drove away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson is burning up, and Jim Moriarty is ice.

By the time he was pulled out of the car he was feverish and sweating.  He’d been warned that the first heat after long term suppression would be brutal and it was certainly shaping up that way. He was dragged somewhere and stripped, and forced through a shower. After some eternity he was dragged into what looked like an open floorplan bedroom with an office on one side.

Moriarty was already there in slacks and a t-shirt.

“You look like hell, Johnny-boy, is your heat setting in that hard?” Moriarty nodded and the goons rather unceremoniously dropped him at the Alpha’s feet. “Set him up.”

A different goon changed out his restraints while Moriarty just stood there watching. It was hard to think and he wanted someone to touch him, but whenever the goons did touch him he wanted them to get away from him– he wondered if it was the long overdue heat, or if it was the fact that they weren’t an Alpha. Eventually he had a leg cuffed to the wall, loosely, and his hands in cuffs attached to a locked belt around his waist. He was on an area rug that didn’t match the décor, he noted.

He’d figured his virginity wasn’t worth much at his age– and Moriarty might want to claim that privilege in any case before he sold him. He definitely wasn’t going to be able to argue; he could barely stand up: as soon as the goon finished locking him into the restraints he slid down to his knees.

“You look good down there, Johnny Boy.” Moriarty smirked.

“Just… get on with it.”

He sent the other men out of the room and walked over and just STOOD there.

“Tell me, Johnny, what did you think was going to happen when you deliberately”–  he suddenly started snarling–  “put yourself into heat!?” Moriarty took a deep breath while John found himself cowering, unable to think.

There was a foot pressing him into the floor: John sank under it and whimpered once before he could stop himself. _Alpha was upset_.  Suddenly searing hot pain cleared his mind– Moriarty was grinding his foot into John’s shoulder, right over the scar– John screamed.

“A little pain can do wonders for clearing the mind, eh, Johnny Boy?” He sounded amused, and kept his foot there.  John stared up at him in shock and held very still.

“What did you think was going to happen?” Moriarty asked him gently, but he increased the pressure on his scar just a bit.

“E-either you’d rape me and hand me around a bit before you sold me,” John answered, “or you’d find someone who thought being first was worth more,” John was almost panting, between the pain and his heat.

 “You were counting on that lovely scent to make me lose control, weren’t you?” he ground his toe into John’s scar again and John clenched his jaw against the scream. Moriarty let up the pressure, but kept his foot there, “Weren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes of course,” John was suddenly fighting not to throw up. Moriarty pulled his foot off and John rolled to his side and retched.

Moriarty just stood there, watching him. “Mmm… and of course you think I’ll sell you to some brothel where they’ll rent you out to all those Alphas who can’t get near an Omega otherwise.”

“I figured I was too old to be sold to a rich Alpha,” John was beginning to be terrified– the man just STOOD there, as though he was completely unaffected.

“Most Alphas are idiots.” Moriarty said idly.  He lifted a foot towards him and John cowered despite himself; then he pulled himself together and just braced.

“Oh, you’re brave enough, Johnny Boy, even if you are incredibly stupid.” Moriarty suddenly lunged forward and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him to his feet with casual Alpha strength, “No one manipulates me, PET,” He spat the last word out, “I manipulate everyone else.”

“I’m not Sherlock’s pet,” John protested.

Moriarty laughed, “No, no you aren’t, not anymore– you’re mine.” He shoved him back to the ground, “And you know what they say about disciplining your pets– you don’t want to reward bad behavior.” He turned and walked away to the office desk on the other side of the room. “So you can just lie on your mat, PET, until I’m ready to play with you.”

John stared in disbelief as the Alpha sat down and started working on his computer. _What the hell kind of Alpha could just IGNORE an Omega in heat? Could even Sherlock do that?!_ John thought about saying something and forced himself to be quiet. _Prisoner protocols, John,_ he told himself _, name, rank, and serial number– play docile until you get a chance to escape._

Eventually, somehow, he fell asleep. He kept waking up from sexually charged dreams that he only remembered in bits and pieces; the cruelty of his  restraints  only becoming clear as the night went on.  Oh, it was far more comfortable than having his hands cuffed behind his back, pulling on his shoulder, but he couldn’t reach… anything.  When he woke up to faint daylight– shaking and moaning and Moriarty was lying asleep in the bed like he wasn’t even there– he lost whatever dignity he’d had.

“Please…” gasped out before he could stop himself.  He pressed his face into the rug and gritted his teeth.  There was no response from the bed.

John started counting in his head.  Eventually he switched to telling himself stories, reciting field manuals… he estimated that it was at least an hour and a half after he’d given up on trying to sleep that Moriarty got up.  John was  curled up around himself as best he could be, trying to breathe steadily  and control himself, while his body felt like it was on fire and desperate.

Moriarty unchained his ankle and pulled him to his feet– John tried to move up against him before he could stop himself.

“Ugh, no! Bad pet!” Moriarty shoved him back away into the wall. John came back to himself blinking and breathing hard. Jim was flicking imaginary dirt off his pajamas– they had skulls on them: John found himself staring rather stupidly at the skulls.

“Does everything you own have skulls on it?”

Moriarty grinned at him, “You can still talk after all, Hmm… No, not everything, but a bit of ‘memento mori’ never hurts.”

John was trying to pull himself away from the wall as Moriarty walked over to a closet and got out a belt. Somehow it ended up around his neck like a leash– Moriarty pulling him out of the room. John was having trouble keeping his feet under him, he felt like he had the flu.  When he felt Moriarty’s– Alpha’s– hands on his dick he moaned in relief.

“I just don’t want you making a mess on the carpet, Pet.” Moriarty hissed in his ear.  John realized with utter sinking humiliation that he was just holding him to pee… John did, hoping that somehow he would be the first in recorded history to actually DIE from embarrassment and spare himself any further ordeals– no such luck.

Moriarty took the belt off of his neck and dragged him into a shower.  When he toweled John off and John tried to rub himself against the friction of the towel without thinking, Moriarty laughed at him and took the towel away. “You’re like a dog trying to hump the furniture, Pet, why do you think I chained your hands that way?”

John’s mind actually focused off of sex and heat and pain long enough to think pleasant thoughts about STRANGLING the bastard with his bare hands– Moriarty smirked at him.

He was taken back into the bedroom and reattached to the wall. “Say what you want about me, but I do at least remember that pets need to be taken out before you go to work for the day.” He started getting out clothing and getting dressed.

“You’re… leaving….?!” John couldn’t believe it; it had to be a joke, didn’t it?

“Don’t chew the furniture while I’m out and I’ll bring you a treat.” He said casually as… he… walked…

He left.

He actually just… left.

John ended up sitting with his back to the wall, slick lubrication  steadily making it damp under him as his body tried to prepare  for being mated by an Alpha… except apparently, not this one.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bargain... is a bargain

Sherlock had dragged himself home at some hour of the early morning; battered, bruised, humiliated and very glad that he hadn’t taken John along. He collapsed into his bed and didn’t get up until long after John would have gone to the clinic. He spent most of the day in his mind palace trying to figure out how to prove his innocence in the poisoning case.  The phone kept ringing.

“John! Answer it!”

It rang again; he slowly looked around and realized it was late, and John should have been home by now.  He picked up the phone: “hello.”

He was greeted by a flood of questions from a reporter and he hung up.  He started turning the questions over in his mind, however… he pulled out his phone and looked at it– several missed calls from his brother.  He called him back.

“Sherlock? What did you do?” Trust Mycroft not to begin with anything as plebian as “hello”.

“I was about to ask YOU that, Mycroft.” Sherlock frowned, “A reporter called, they were indicating that the case against me was–”

“Collapsing, suddenly, and without my doing.” Mycroft snapped peevishly. “Information suddenly coming to light, including a wig styled to look like your hair with traces of mercury. It’s not enough to prove anything, but it throws doubt.”

“That’s a good thing, but it doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“When John gets home I can–”

“What do you mean when John gets home, he IS home, isn’t he?”

Sherlock froze. “I got home very early this morning and went to bed, he was gone by the time I woke up, didn’t he make it to work?” for once Sherlock was more grateful of Mycroft’s constant observation than annoyed.

“No. John called in to the clinic yesterday, said he might be coming down with something and suggested getting a temp for several days.” Mycroft’s voice was slowing, “Could he have done this? Tried to plant evidence that would clear you?”

“I don’t know; he didn’t say anything to me.” Sherlock had a tight feeling in his chest that he recognized as panic and shoved aside, “Can you track him?”

“Yes. Wait.” Mycroft hung up.

Sherlock set about trying to scan the news and gather information but he couldn’t concentrate.  It took Mycroft two hours to call him back.

“Sherlock…” Mycroft had a tone in his voice that said the news was very bad, and worse: Mycroft didn’t have an answer.

“How bad?”

“John’s phone was found… in the pool. There were very small traces of blood near the edge of the pool– nothing life threatening– my people are evaluating the evidence now.”

 _The pool_ … Sherlock swallowed with difficulty… _“I’ll burn the heart out of you.”_ Sherlock forced himself to be calm, “Moriarty then.”

“We don’t know that.” _Yes_.

“He’ll contact me to taunt me; he won’t just kill him.” _Dear God, please let me be right…_

“Of course,” Mycroft lied as easily as he breathed, but this time he was trying to be reassuring.

“Tell me as soon as you find anything, Mycroft.” Sherlock hung up before Mycroft could reply.

He took a moment to stop his hands from shaking and sent a text: What do you want me to do?–SH

He didn’t get a reply for almost an hour: Nothing.–JM

His fingers hesitated over the keys. _Is he alive? … Don’t hurt him…_ he didn’t know what to send. The main thought that kept crawling through his mind was that John was probably frightened and being very brave. He tried not to think about what kind of condition John could be in by now.

The phone ringing yanked him out of his panic: “hello?”

Mycroft’s voice was immediately worried and suspicious that Sherlock hadn’t even  known who was calling, “Sherlock? What’s going on?”

“You didn’t call to ask that, Mycroft!” He snapped, “What news?”

“The blood was ruined by the chlorine, all we can tell is it type matches to John, but his blood type is common, however… the phone…” Mycroft cleared his throat, “My men recovered some texts John sent:  he was in contact with Moriarty.”

“What?” For a moment Sherlock’s heart felt like it stopped as all the old doubts came crawling up and tried to strangle him. _No, not John… it’s a trick, like the pool…._

“He… said he had something of value to offer in exchange for Moriarty leaving you alone, and he arranged to meet him alone at the pool, last night at six.”

Sherlock’s first thought was to be relieved that John wasn’t in league with Moriarty; his second to hate himself for having doubted the man; his third was stark terror. “Moriarty would destroy him… just to get to me…”

“Caring is not–”

“I DON’TCARE! Find him! Find him before anything more happens to him!”

“You do care, and that’s the problem.” Mycroft sighed, “We’re trying, Sherlock, believe me.”

Sherlock hung up and stared at the last text message.  It took him three tries to type his own: I’ll hand myself over, just let him go– SH

He got a reply just a few minutes later: That’s funny, that’s almost what he said–JM

Sherlock was still staring at that when he got another text: Turn on the telly; Kitty’s on and you want to see it.–JM

They wouldn’t broadcast an execution, but they would broadcast a report on someone finding a crime scene. Sherlock found Kitty Riley’s broadcast–

She was interviewing Richard Brook.

It was a recorded program, not live, and Richard was sitting in an interview chair, hunched slightly, with a developing livid bruise on his face.  Sherlock called his brother, told him to turn on the program, and hung up.

“–He looked so much like Sherlock Holmes, he did! It was only after he tried to kill me, and I was trying to get away that I pulled the wig off…” Richard was shaking like a leaf.

“So this man who looked so much like the real Sherlock Holmes, your friend who hired you, ISN’T the same man that the police…” Kitty sounded unhappy but was doing a professional job.

“He tried to kill me,” Richard was shaking, “I ran… I didn’t know where else to go…”

He had to talk to her, had to find out… Sherlock pulled his  things together and bolted out the door– right into a group of press, and cameras, and a couple of police trying to control things.

“Great,” muttered Sally Donovan as she turned and stalked over to him. “Go back inside!” she snapped.

“I have to talk to Kitty Riley!” Sherlock would have just shoved her out of the way if it wasn’t for the cameras.

“YOU don’t have to do anything but turn around and march yourself back inside, because if arresting you will settle this down faster I will HAPPILY do it.”

They were still arguing when news broke that Kitty Riley had been shot by a man matching Sherlock Holmes’ description…

Fifteen minutes ago…

On the other side of London.

Donovan’s expression as she realized Sherlock Holmes had her, and a team of reporters, as his alibi was sour: when she realized it proved the existence of a lookalike killer, she took the rest of the day off.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim Moriarty was on his way home from undoing a lot of his hard work.  Oh truthfully most of the slander against Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t have held up to serious digging, but crucifying someone in the press was easy enough. The fact that Sherlock had royally pissed off so many police and government officials meant that blaming him got a lot of help  outside of the press, though, and that made it so much easier– would have made it harder to unravel too, still might.

Jim smiled at the thought of how very useless the Iceman must have felt in the face of it all. Oh he probably had plans to turn it to his advantage– he always did– but to watch his brother forced into the trap and know he couldn’t do anything about it? Delicious.

A thought struck him suddenly: _I never promised to let MYCROFT go… Hmmm…_

Well, plenty of time for that once his Omega was out of heat.

His… Omega… Jim started giggling in the car: the driver looked worried in the rear view and then resolutely back to the road. Who the fuck ever pictured him with an Omega?  Omegas were coveted, useless, status symbols, and the only useless status symbols Jim liked were clothing and art.  For some reason most people put such great value on being able to FUCK the useless status symbols– Jim started snickering at the idea of Mycroft Holmes fucking one of the innumerable pieces of art he had stashed away.

He sent the final text to Sherlock, telling him to turn on the interview with Kitty Riley– the man was falling apart; it was glorious– while he was thinking about his new plans.

When John Watson had actually shown up, alone, Jim Moriarty had almost not believed it.  He’d been furious when Watson attacked his men– if it was a trick it was a stupid one, taking on four armed men singlehanded– but in hindsight he should have realized the man wasn’t seeing them _.  PTSD, from the bomb vest?_ Well, he really didn’t know what his military experiences were, and truthfully walking in to hand yourself over to an enemy had to be a stressful situation.

He hadn’t known what John could expect to trade, other than his own life… and then that turned out to be it!  The damned brave, loyal– but perhaps a bit delusional– fool was offering to trade his own life for Sherlock. Jim was going to laugh in his face and leave him to be picked up by his soon to be disgraced and dead flatmate until he’d revealed the ace up his sleeve.

An Omega.

An honest to God virgin, never mated, unbonded, Omega.

And Sherlock hadn’t deduced THAT? Alright in fairness he hadn’t seen it either and he should have.

Much as it pained him to admit it, Watson had been right about what he had planned to do to him– for a few minutes. For just a few minutes at the pool he’d thought only of doing something creative to the Omega as payback for all the annoyances he’d caused, and for having Sherlock’s attention. Yes, if he was honest, selling him to a brothel somewhere well out of reach of the Iceman’s help had crossed his mind, but he really didn’t like dealing with those kinds of people.

So he’d decided to go straight home while his boys drove John around in the boot a bit so he could think. Getting away from the smell of Omega in heat helped clear his head. He had to hand it to the man, deliberately bringing on a heat at the meeting was pretty clever. He had to punish him for trying to manipulate him of course… but it was a good try for someone ordinary.

Except of course John Watson wasn’t ordinary, was he?

An OMEGA with a medical degree.  An OMEGA in the military. An Omega who could shoot a cabbie at range with a pistol and throw himself on criminal geniuses while strapped in a bomb vest.  An OMEGA!

By the time he’d gotten home, well ahead of the car Watson was in, he’d scrapped the idea of just tormenting the man and selling him– letting Sherlock go mad with worry and guilt– and started thinking long range.

A bonded Omega couldn’t really harm their Alpha, had to submit and obey if you pushed it– of course most of them were idiots so who cared. John Watson– Captain and Doctor– wasn’t an idiot, even if he was a bit hung up on Sherlock.

Which, come to think of it, also proved a few things–like he had a modicum of taste.

He hadn’t simpered and begged to be bonded to Sherlock– Sherlock didn’t even know. He’d gone WITH Sherlock, been part of the whole annoyance and generally caused enough grief that Jim had started drawing up a few plans to get rid of him as part of taking Sherlock apart. John Watson wasn’t a dependent useless bit of bragging rights like most Omegas– he was USEFUL.

Jim liked useful.

And he’d been Sherlock’s– Jim thought the idea of  stealing Sherlock’s Omega out from under him before he even knew he’d had him was a bit of a thrill, really.

Jim was once again grateful for the foresight of taking Alpha suppressants.  Yes, most Alphas had a ridiculous bias against them– feeling they made you somehow less capable, or less Alpha, or whatever– but Jim knew better.  No matter how superior his control and willpower may be– and it was superior– someone like the Iceman would try throwing an Omega in heat up against him and he might slip. He grinned remembering the Iceman sweating as his people pumped Omega pheromones into interrogation and he ignored it just like he ignored everything else: It had been an awful unrelenting buzzing in his nerves, but without the suppressants he would have been a growling idiot. Having been up close and personal with the real thing, though, he could now be certain those had been synthetic.

He’d given himself an extra dose– short acting– before they brought Johnny Boy in: probably a good thing given that he was positively dripping by then. He’d had his boys shower the man off and he STILL smelled good.  Watching the man twitch and squirm being put in the restraints was fun, but of course he needed to put Johnny Boy in his place. Manipulating me, indeed.

He’d left him to stew in his own hormones overnight.  _He wanted to manipulate me by putting himself in heat? He could pay for it_. Every now and then he’d woken up and watched the man squirm in his sleep. He might have broken down and fucked him when John finally whined “please” at some barely past dawn hour, except for the fact that he’d whimpered and begged for Sherlock an hour before that!

John had tried to rut against him  when he went to clean him up in the morning– as expected his mind was mostly gone, but Jim still put him down… and damned if he didn’t come back with a comment on the skulls on his clothing.  Jim was impressed despite himself. He insulted him after the shower and the man GLARED at him.

An Omega, in heat, to an Alpha… and he glared at him and balled his hands up into fists.

Oh yes indeed, John was anything but ORDINARY.

He still needed to learn who did the manipulating around here, though.

Once he got home Jim checked in with the guards he’d left watching his Omega.  Apparently part way through the morning John had started to rub himself against the rug and might have damaged himself so they’d restrained him more thoroughly.  He nodded and went in. _Oh Dear Fermi and Feynman it smelled good in here_! Even with the suppressants Jim reeled and had to grab the doorframe– luckily John was facing away from the door, even assuming he had a shred of intelligence left by this point he hadn’t seen it.

“Not going to come crawling to greet me at the door, like a good Pet?” Jim called out as he pulled his wits together– not that John could have crawled to the door the way he was restrained.

“Go to hell…” John whimpered.

 _He was coherent?_ “So, Johnny Boy, a bargain is a bargain.”  He walked over and hauled the man out of a puddle of slick. After a moments consideration he tossed a sheet over one of the plusher chairs and put him in that. Gritting his teeth and looking nonchalant he proceeded to change out of his Richard Brook disguise and put away a few things he’d picked up for teaching his Omega who he belonged to– wouldn’t want his pet trying to run off, after all.

“Richard... Brook...” John rasped.  _Damnation I’d really underestimated him._

“We did have a bargain, Johnny Boy, and I always keep my bargains.  Your life for leaving Sherlock alone– I did rather take that as your life for his, I suppose.”

“What, what did you…?” Watson was struggling to focus.

Having schooled his features to complete neutral he put on a robe and turned and walked back.  John was plastered all over with sweat and looked about to drop. _Hmmm… probably needed to hydrate him a bit._

“I unraveled the web that was entangling dear Sherlock: we did have a bargain. I’m not sure you’d understand it right now, though.”

John looked glazed and worried at him. Jim went out to get something for him to drink and was gratified to hear the man whimper, “Alpha?”

“You need something to drink.” He grinned on his way out now that John couldn’t see him, “Wouldn’t want my pet to get sick.”

He got electrolytes and water and a few protein drinks– and wiped his face with ice water– and walked back in.

John whimpered and looked up at him with hazy eyes as he got him rehydrated and unlocked the extra restraints.  Jim took him back into the bathroom, helped him handle the needed business, and cleaned him up.  He was astonished to see some flickers of humiliation and hate mixed in with the heat haze even now.

Oh that was just adorable.

“The fact that you’re sane enough to remember who I am? I have to admit I’m impressed, pet.”

“Not…” a pet, I suppose he was trying to say. Jim peeled him off of him and dragged him back to the bedroom.

“You’re a pet, PET, until you prove you can be something more, that’s all you are.  So… now that I don’t have any pressing work to do,” Jim smirked at him and dropped him on the floor at his feet. “Beg me to fuck you and I might consider it.”

And damned if Omega John Watson, king of the domestic sweaters and annoying conscience to Sherlock Holmes, didn’t lift his head and grit his teeth and say, “No.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updating extra for Mickie, safe trip home

John scarcely remembered the day.  At some point guards had come in and restrained him even more– they’d been talking worriedly about him injuring himself– he hazily remembered  trying to get friction against  the carpet.  Hours passed– it could have been days for all he knew– and slowly, very slowly, he managed to put together what was going on.

Jim Moriarty was like Sherlock Holmes, except without what Greg– what was Greg doing now, John wondered, John had to have been reported missing by now.  Sherlock would be upset he didn’t have his tea, if nothing else.

…

Why was the Alpha so angry with him?  Right… he was like Sherlock, he wanted an audience, needed it.  He’d screamed about John trying to manipulate him… yes, he was angry because I tried to be in control.  Like so many people he had an obsession with being in control– his control must be insanely strong; Omegas in heat were supposed to be irresistible.  Moriarty had no trouble resisting him.

…

He was lost in another haze of need and want when he heard a door and smelled…

Alpha! Oh godfuckmepleasefuckkme he whined desperately in the back of his throat.

“Not going to come crawling to greet me at the door, like a good Pet?”  Moriarty. 

Images of a bomb vest and a red sniper dot danced in his mind. “Go to hell…” John tried to growl and it came out as a whimper.

 “So, Johnny Boy, a bargain is a bargain.”  He walked over and hauled John up out of a puddle of slick and casually put him in a chair.

Bargain? Oh, he’d made a bargain hadn’t he?  This Alpha– Moriarty– was hurting people and he wanted him to stop... leave Sherlock alone… John blinked woozily and Richard Brook was undressing in front of a closet. Richard Brook the actor… Moriarty…

 “We did have a bargain, Johnny Boy, and I always keep my bargains.  Your life for leaving Sherlock alone– I did rather take that as your life for his, I suppose.” He was utterly unaffected.

 _Wait, bargain… Sherlock? What had he done?_ “What, what did you…?”

“I unraveled the web that was entangling dear Sherlock: we did have a bargain. I’m not sure you’d understand it right now, though.”

John tried to understand, but all he knew was that he NEEDED… “Alpha?”

“You need something to drink; wouldn’t want my pet to get sick.” He left again. John begged then: quietly, brokenly, and hating himself.

Alpha came back and Alpha gave him things, but he needed… he needed so much… Alpha unlocked him and took him back to the cool room with water…

And John managed to understand again. This was Moriarty; I traded myself for Sherlock; I’m a hostage… or something…

“The fact that you’re sane enough to remember who I am? I have to admit I’m impressed, pet.” A flicker of pride, like when Sherlock gave him one of those rare looks…

“Not…” _a pet. Not a pet, I’m Captain John Watson, Doctor John Watson_ … he hung on to that and gritted his teeth.

“You’re a pet, PET, until you prove you can be something more, that’s all you are.  So… now that I don’t have any pressing work to do,” John was dropped to the floor. “Beg me to fuck you and I might consider it.”

John knew it was stupid, he knew that, but the same stubborn streak that had gotten him through school and through the military; had kept him chasing after Sherlock Holmes because it was WORTH it for the violence and the combat and the flickers of friendship that had grown slowly over time; that had told Mycroft Holmes to take his desperately needed money– for nothing really, except his pride and his principals– and shove it… couldn’t bring himself to beg.

So knowing it was pointless, and even though he did, in fact, desperately want to be fucked– and begging was such a small thing really– he gritted his teeth and said, “No.”

He expected to be backhanded into a wall, forced down and kicked, ordered to beg with all the power an Alpha could bring to bear…

Instead he saw stunned shock on Moriarty’s face– and that made it worthwhile for a moment, even as he braced for what would follow– and then Moriarty’s features twisted in fury and John couldn’t keep his head up, couldn’t look… he slid to the floor, but he locked his jaw and made it more difficult on himself–like he always did.

After a short while he was picked up, remarkably gently, and carried to the bed. He whimpered through clenched teeth.

“Oh you are ANYTHING but ordinary…” Moriarty breathed.  He sounded… pleased? Impressed?

John opened his eyes and found himself staring into Alpha’s dark eyes at close range– he froze.

“You traded yourself for Sherlock, pet, do you remember that?” Moriarty’s voice was gentle, soft, like… like someone in the hospital… with Molly… John nodded slowly.

“So I can do anything I want with you, can’t I?”

 _Yes, yes he could– that was the deal_. John nodded again, unable to speak.

“Fucking you was always part of the deal, pet, and you know that….” Moriarty was stroking his skin and John moved up into it with a desperate moan. “You were COUNTING on it in fact…”

Moriarty unlocked the last of the restraints and waited until desperate hands tried to give himself any stimulation at all– and then he grabbed his wrists and chained them to the head of the bed.

“Oh no, pet, if you get any treats you get them from me.” Moriarty touched his dick and a flood of slick poured out of him and he whined desperately.

“But you’re determined not to beg.” Moriarty grabbed his jaw and kissed him.  The taste of mint, and Alpha, and oh GOD he wanted… John arched up into the hand on his dick and a desperate noise escaped him.

“I can appreciate that, truly… and you really are remarkable…” Moriarty’s voice got very dangerous and it made everything so much harder, “But I am going to take you APART until you beg to be fucked…” Moriarty’s hand slowly started moving up and down John’s shaft– too slowly, much too slowly.

*

Sherlock had been delivered to Mycroft’s by one of the police, and stalked in to find Mycroft sitting in one of his comfortable chairs with a snifter of brandy: brandy meant he was puzzled and trying to work things out. Sherlock sat down in his usual chair and then jumped up and paced.

“Must you?” Mycroft sighed.

“He has John and he is no longer replying to any texts.”

“Yes.” Mycroft sighed, “He could have taken John before, if that was what he wanted– it doesn’t make sense.”

“He might have changed his mind when John delivered himself,” Sherlock growled.

“Yes, he might have… but John must have made a very convincing argument for him to bother unraveling this net, brother mine; it was very nearly pulled tight.”

“I know.”  Sherlock stopped, drumming his fingers on Mycroft’s mantelpiece. “Can you track him?”

“We’re trying.  Without the phone, his jacket, or any electronics, it’s difficult.”

“His jacket?”

“I had a tracker on it.”

“Of course you did.” Sherlock sighed. “Cameras?”

“Jammed.”

“And no one saw anything, of course.”

“We have a witness who thinks they saw someone pull up in a cab in the late afternoon, but that’s all.” Mycroft sighed, “The cab company has a record of John getting a cab to go there, much earlier than 6, so it was probably him.”

“I expected Moriarty to threaten John, not…”

“No one expected John to walk himself into it.”

“I offered to exchange myself for John.” Sherlock said quietly.

“You will not! That’s unquestionably what Moriarty expects–”

“He turned me down.”

“What?”

“To be specific, he said that was almost exactly what John had said, and then he told me to turn on Kitty Riley’s interview.”

“Let me see.”

Sherlock handed him the phone and Mycroft scrolled through, frowning.

“This implies… that Moriarty has accepted John’s offer, and it was his life for yours.”

“I was afraid that was what it sounded like.” Sherlock’s voice sounded hollow. “Why?  Why would he?  I don’t know what to do, Mycroft.”

“It’s… probable… that John is still alive.  Moriarty rarely does anything directly.  It’s most likely that he’ll be put into a situation that will present a threat to anyone trying to rescue him.”

“Then why not answer me? Why do so much work to redeem my reputation and prove doubt?”

“That… I can almost answer, Sherlock.” Mycroft sat back in his chair and sighed, “While there is very little honor among thieves– or government agencies– Moriarty always prided himself on keeping his word.  A deal with him could be relied on; it was one of the hallmarks of his business.”

“Is that why the government dealt with him?” Sherlock noted the very faint frown on Mycroft’s face. “I’m not DAFT Mycroft; it was obvious you had dealt with him before.”

“Was it…? Annoying that.” Mycroft finished his brandy, “whatever deal John made; Moriarty considered this to be keeping his side of it.  Which means John was still alive as of Kitty Riley’s attempted assassination.”

“What?” Sherlock frowned.

“As long as Moriarty is still working on his side of the deal, John is still alive to ‘collect’ even if that’s only seeing the proof with his own eyes: after that, it depends on what the deal WAS.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Jim Moriarty was expecting almost anything except being told “No”.

After the momentary rage passed he found that he had stopped caring whether John had any connection to Sherlock at all– he was perfect.  No one else  would want an Omega that ARGUED with their Alpha– at least not when they were in heat; no one else would want an Omega that was perfectly capable of  taking on  several armed Betas; no one else would want an Omega who was tough, and fierce, and stubborn, and armed…

Jim did.

Jim didn’t give a damn what Sherlock wanted, or did, or whether he just shrugged his shoulders and found a new flatmate or threw himself off a bridge– this was MY Omega.

Now I only have to convince HIM…

Jim petted and stroked at John, and the smell kept getting more and more enticing.  He wanted to bury himself in it.  He licked John’s neck, paying especial attention to  the spot he was going to bite to bond the man– because he was definitely going to bond him– and watched John arch and twist and  listened to him making desperate whining noises that went straight to Jim’s cock…

But he didn’t beg.

“Oh you are precious…!” Jim unlocked John’s hands before he could forget how to use a handcuff key and started sinking his fingers into John’s ass.  It was easy enough at first with as wet and as desperate as he was, but eventually he was working him open with one hand while stroking him with the other.  Jim was in a pleasant haze himself– remarkably like being drugged– when John finally started begging.

“Please…”  raw and rough and desperate, John’s voice snapped Jim back to the present.

“Yes, Pet?”

“Please fuck me, please… need…”

Jim took John’s face in his hands and made him look at him.  It might be traditional to fuck an Omega from behind, but Jim wanted to see his face. “Look at me,” he growled, and the Omega’s eyes widened and he stared at him and whined…

Jim did what he’d wanted to do since he first got him home and shoved into him hard. John made a guttural noise that somehow made Jim even harder and started begging with considerably more sincerity.

“Please… fuck… Alpha!...want… fuckmoreplease!…” not at all coherent, but very sincere.

Jim pulled himself out most of the way and pushed into him again, feeling his knot swelling– and oh wasn’t that a different sensation– he deliberately kept pulling almost all the way out and shoving back in doing his best to  drive his Omega  insane with lust.

It wasn’t that far to go, mind you.

John was literally SCREAMING to be fucked and Jim was hanging on to coherence by his fingernails.  He stared down into John’s face while he watched John writhe and beg and then he bared his teeth. “MY Omega…” Jim growled down at him, and then leaned down and bit.

Pheromones flooded Jim’s mouth along with the familiar copper tang of blood and OH he hadn’t thought it could be better… They locked together and for the first time in a very long time, Jim stopped thinking.

*

Jim woke up feeling as though he’d been worked over by Mycroft’s boys again, but it didn’t matter because the painkillers were just that good.

Bits and pieces of memory and thought started filtering back, and then more, and then faster, until he placed himself in space and time again: he was in bed, with his Omega…John Watson. Apparently all those ridiculous porn plots about insatiable Omegas in heat weren’t quite so ridiculous…

Whenever John went into heat again Jim was going to have to stock up on supplies within arm’s reach.  He was starving– it felt like he hadn’t eaten in days. How often DO they go into heat anyway? Hmmm… he’d been on suppressants for a long time and taken himself off– his heat cycle might not be normal anyway. Come to that… MY being on suppressants for this long might have contributed to losing my mind quite so much…

Jim sat up and his head spun.  His phone was beeping, the good one, the one that he used for Moran and a handful of others.  He managed to stagger over to the phone and answer it, “This better be good.”  He couldn’t even manage to put a decent snarl into his voice.

He could HEAR Moran grinning, “Finally back in the land of the living, are you?”

“Moran…” he started to lecture him about attitudes and just couldn’t muster the energy, ”Oh never mind, what is it?”

“Oh man that must have been fantastic to have you still so mellow after two days!”

… “What did you say?”

“That the sex must have been fantastic?”

“Did you say two DAYS?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, “You don’t even know, do you?” Moran sounded stunned. “Oh my GOD… Boss, if you find another Omega I want one…”

“I thought you agreed that they were useless expensive bits of stupidity and hormones,” Jim grinned, “Except this one– this one is extraordinary, he tried to ARGUE with me.” Then he shook his head, “What do you mean two days?”

“I mean, sir, that the boys and I have been keeping things running since I shot Kitty Riley… two days ago.”

Jim pawed at his other phone and checked the time and date.  He stared at it, and then he opened up his laptop and stared at the time and date on THAT.

“Moran… PLEASE tell me you suddenly developed an ability to hack into my electronics to go with your horrible taste in pranks?”

*

John felt like he’d been hit by a truck carrying morphine.

No… no… he didn’t have that nauseous feeling morphine gave him.  He tried to roll over and he STUCK to the sheets. “Ughhhh” How many double shifts had he pulled?

He tried to get his knees and hands under him and as soon as he did he remembered.

Remembered having sex so intense he had literally passed out.  Remembered screaming as he had orgasm after orgasm and he couldn’t come anymore and he didn’t CARE. Remembered eyes so dark it was like falling into them… Remembered being fucked into the bed– repeatedly and gloriously– by Moriarty.

John collapsed back onto the bed and moaned.  His neck and shoulder were stiff and hurt, he must have leaned on them wrong– or been holding himself up as Alpha– Moriarty– slammed into him over and over and… STOP thinking about it!

It wasn’t until he tried one more time to roll over and get up that he realized he wasn’t restrained.  His first thought was to bolt.  _My life for Sherlock’s– if I bolt now_ … John took several deep breaths and tried to pull himself together; it will be easier to run after he sells me, and safer for Sherlock.

The door opened and Moriarty walked in with a bag.  John got out of bed fast and stood on the far side of the bed shifting his weight and trying NOT to notice just how much his body remembered.

“Finally up?” Moriarty smirked, which seemed to be his favorite expression. “I brought  electrolytes and a meal shake.” John must have shaken his head to clear it because Moriarty asked him, “Come now, pet, what good does dehydrating and starving yourself do?”

“I’m not–”

“A pet, yes, I heard you the first several times,” Moriarty rolled his eyes. He tossed a bottle in John’s direction: John tried to catch it and his shoulder flared and he dropped his arms and winced– the bottle bounced off the bed and rolled away.

“Hmmm…” Moriarty walked around the bed at him and John backed up several steps before he could stop himself.  He clenched his hands and braced himself.

Moriarty just took John’s chin and tilted his head. It felt… It felt like he wanted to lean into it-John realized he’d closed his eyes: he opened his eyes with effort and tried to pull away.

Moriarty snickered, “Hormones, gotta love ’em.  Drink your meal shake, and your electrolytes. Bathrooms down the hall– I doubt you remember where but–”

He remembered: Alpha took him… Moriarty took him there and taunted him. “Down the hall, second door, left.” John growled.

Moriarty stopped and blinked at him and  for a brief  moment there was a genuine looking small smile on his face, then the more familiar smirk, “Oh good… wouldn’t want to have to put down papers or anything.  Medical supplies are in the FIRST door to the left.” Moriarty walked over to the desk and started setting up the computer for work.

“I can just…” John trailed off not having any idea how to talk to the man.

Moriarty turned back and looked at him. “I assume you’re coherent enough to be a doctor again?”

“Yes… obviously… why?”

Moriarty just smirked at him– John was fighting the urge to take that smirk off his face with a punch– “I’ll have to order you some clothes, but once you clean up I think I can find you something.  I don’t want you giving my guards THAT much of a show. In any event, go get yourself cleaned up, I’ll be along presently.”

John stared at him as he started working on the computer.  _He’d done that before_ , John remembered, _ignored me and gone to work on something just like Sherlock– God! They really were alike._

John drank the electrolytes and the bottle of meal replacement shake and went over to the door… it wasn’t locked.   He opened the first door to his left–

 _That wasn’t a first aid kit; that was a bloody field hospital!_ John stared at the “medical supplies”.  After a short while he closed the door… _right, criminal... what with the bombs and the snipers I suppose it makes sense to have…_ John stopped and stared as he opened the second door, the one to the bathroom.

_I must have REALLY been out of it._

The bathroom was huge, luxurious and the polar opposite of the sleek and modern bedroom he’d been in.  The bathtub looked more like a Jacuzzi, the shower… he’d seen smaller unit decontamination showers. John walked over to the toilet and remembered suddenly… Moriarty holding him… he closed his eyes and counted to ten. He walked over to the sink to see why his shoulder hurt that badly and stared into the mirror over the vanity in horror.  There were bloody teeth marks in his shoulder and just at the base of his neck… as well as a few bites in other places… He reached up and touched the bite: John had a sudden recollection of Moriarty over him and in him… and a searing agony that turned into everything right with the world a moment after.

Moriarty had BONDED him…

If Moriarty had bonded him, he was very unlikely to be sold… _Oh dear God how am I supposed to get away from him?!_ John realized he’d been counting on only having to endure a short while before he was either sold to someone who wouldn’t have any idea of his capabilities, or killed.

 _They always do say no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy_ , John thought grimly, _so I just need to come up with a new plan._

Step one, John forced himself to breathe deeply and stay calm, try to figure out what a psychopathic Alpha has planned.  _You can do this_ , he told his reflection– which was staring back at him with dark circles under his eyes and blood and… other things… stuck to his skin– he lived with Sherlock after all, he’d been on cases…

 _You’ve made it through medical school, the military, being shot, being put in a bomb vest – you can find a way to make it out of this._   John brought his hand up to touch the bond bite and a wave of pleasure took him to his knees.

_This… This wasn’t going to be as simple…_

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agreements in principal...

Mycroft hated watching his brother suffer.  He’d tried to warn him that caring meant pain when they inevitably betrayed you, or were killed– something Mycroft had learned long ago– but it hurt to watch it happen nonetheless.

“As you said, Sherlock, he’s not likely to kill him without setting you some sort of challenge or puzzle, or taunting you.  The fact that we haven’t heard anything could be considered–”

“Bollocks!” Sherlock snapped. “It’s been almost three days!  Yes, yes, the first two days things were unraveling in the case against me, but it’s been all mundane news and gossip and people turning on each other for the last day!” Sherlock went back to pacing desperately. “He won’t answer any texts; there’s been no contact… I don’t know what he wants!”

Mycroft refrained from pointing out that the depth of Sherlock’s anxiety and pain were likely at least part of what he wanted.

“Doctor Watson is rather more competent than most people; it’s always possible that he will find a way to escape.” Mycroft said as gently as possible. “Moriarty is not known for torture– murder certainly, but not typically torture– and as long as he is still–”

“You wouldn’t tell me what you did to him Mycroft.” Sherlock said suddenly.

“What I did to whom?”

“Moriarty.”

“Whatever difference does it make what we did to him?”

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft and his eyes were the cold calculating eyes that they had been before John Watson softened him, “So tell me, brother dear; if Moriarty does to John what you did to him, what condition will he be in?”

 _They hadn’t gotten anywhere with Moriarty, not in weeks, but they hadn’t done anything that would cripple him…_ “You saw him he was physically undamaged…”

“Was he?” Sherlock stared at him, “Or was the damage just covered by the suit.”

“Minimal physical damage was done.”

“For an Alpha,” Sherlock growled low and dangerously. “Psychologically?”

“He seemed to recover quickly enough,” Mycroft snapped, “Most people would be a wreck–”

Sherlock bared his teeth at Mycroft, “Yes, most people: what about a Beta military doctor who already has PTSD?”

“I… I don’t know.”

*

John was in the shower trying not to scrub his skin raw when Moriarty walked in. Normally another naked man in a large shower wouldn’t even cause John to blink– military being what it was– but this time John was acutely aware of his presence. He realized he’d never seen Moriarty naked before– well, not when he wasn’t out of his mind in Heat– the military Alphas, even the Alpha that he saw briefly by the pool, were all much taller and more muscled; Moriarty looked like a fit but otherwise ordinary man.

“Like what you see, Pet?”

“No.”

Moriarty bared his teeth in an expression that might have been called a smile, if you’d never actually seen one before, and stalked into the shower at him, “Prefer your Alphas taller?”

John stood his ground. “Saner.” He answered.

Moriarty stared at him for a beat and then started laughing.  Eventually he threw an arm out to the wall, effectively pinning John in place, still laughing and collapsing against John.  John had calculated at least four ways to kill him– stone and tile and hard surfaces being incredibly dangerous things– when Moriarty suddenly grabbed the back of his head and kissed him.

John struggled briefly, but Moriarty twisted his fingers in John’s hair and pushed him harder into the shower wall. Alphas were always stronger than they looked, always; John had forgotten that.

His willpower seemed to be washing away with the shower, too… especially since Alpha– Moriarty– tasted wonderful.

Moriarty pulled back, licking his lips, “Saner… Oh, you ARE adorable…”

“I will break your neck if you don’t get your hands off me.”

Moriarty looked down at him and lowered his mouth to John’s ear, “Oh? Without even finding out what I was doing about our bargain?”

The whispered reminder froze John in place.  Moriarty leaned both his arms on the wall, and on John, and kept whispering into his ear, licking at it occasionally.

“Besides, you said your life for his and I accepted. You’re quite right, an unbonded Omega is worth a fortune, but you know… I don’t deal with the slave trade.”

“You don’t?” John managed to ask, “Why not, you don’t seem to have any ethics.”

“Tsk, is that the kind of nonsense Sherlock filled your head with? I have far more ethics than Mycroft”

“That’s not saying much.”

Moriarty pulled back and looked down at John in amusement, “No, truthfully it’s not.” He pulled him out of the shower and started toweling him off. John grabbed the towel away and dried himself off, trying to keep what little dignity he had.

“I even bonded you and I didn’t have to do that, I could have just had you in chains.” Moriarty was  watching John with a possessive and predatory look, which then suddenly  morphed into a wide eyed, innocent, amazed look, one that he could only picture on Richard Brook or Jim from IT, not… him.

“Oooooh, you clever, clever thing you…” Moriarty snapped a hand out and grabbed his wrist in an impossibly strong grip. “I have some basic clothing for you, everything else will have to be ordered,” he said as he towed John back into the bedroom.

“Let me GO!”

“Never.” Moriarty laughed, but he let go of him. “Clothes on the bed. I’ll have proper clothing delivered.”

John stared at the man as he went over to the closet and started getting his own clothes out for the day.  Apparently the man was more of a peacock than Sherlock, judging from the suits John saw, but for right now he was dressing casually.  What was lying on the bed was something like gym or PT gear. John pulled it on, grateful to have any clothing at all.

John braced as Moriarty picked up the shackles that he’d been in, but he just tossed them over to the little rug where John had been restrained.  _Not putting me back in them? Or going to demand I go over and do it myself?_

He walked over to the computer and called out, “Come here, pet”

“I’m not a PET!” John snarled and then forced himself to breathe a few times and try to calm down.

“Hmm… then what are you?” Moriarty was back to smirking.

“Captain… Doctor… John Watson…” A small part of John’s brain was telling him to shut up and stop antagonizing him– as usual he didn’t listen.

“I’m not so formal as to call my Omega by his former last name.”

John felt like he’d been hit in the gut, all the air just went out of him.  _“My Omega”…Shit… “Former last name”… shit… he was BONDED...oh shit…_ he ended up sitting on the bed staring ahead blankly.

“Hmmmm… yes I did think you weren’t paying attention, but it WAS rather sudden.” Moriarty sat down at the computer and idly swiveled the chair from side to side, “Of course, your DELIBERATELY putting yourself in Heat could be considered entrapment, but I forgive you– I think you suffered enough.”

“Why? Why would you…?” John could barely speak.

“I just realized, of course: you thought you would either be dead fairly soon… or more likely sold off to a slave trader or brothel… you did say that.”

“Yes…”

“And you are really so very clever… no one running an Omega brothel or slave trade would EVER expect YOU… You thought you’d be able to escape….”

“Yes.” John felt cold suddenly and shivered.

Moriarty came over and sat on the bed, wrapping his arms around John and grinning in a shark-like fashion. “I admit some rather less … pleasant… thoughts about what to do with you did cross my mind, but that was before I realized you weren’t nearly as ordinary as you pretend to be.” Moriarty pushed him down onto the bed. “So…” he punctuated every word by licking John’s neck, getting closer to the Bond bite every time, “Captain… Doctor… John… Omega…Moriarty” – he licked at the Bond bite and John nearly lost his mind– “Consider yourself fortunate that I decided that you were extraordinary enough to Bond you, and not… anything else.”

Moriarty suddenly jumped off the bed and pulled John up with him over to the computer.

“What?’ John tried to ask as he got pushed into the chair.

“Now you do understand that most of what I did to Sherlock, setting him up to fall, was not going to be easily reversed…”

“Reversed?” John twisted his neck as much as he could to try to look at the man, and then Moriarty leaned down and rested his  head on John’s shoulder– the injured one, yes: John gritted his teeth and didn’t say anything.

“Hmm…” Moriarty opened a file on the computer. “For instance, the biggest problem was the children and their identifying Sherlock as the kidnapper.”

John stiffened, “I have no idea how you–”

“Tall thin employee, big black coat, and a wig– simple really.” Moriarty shrugged, “So Richard Brook essentially recanted his statement, a Sherlock lookalike was seen shooting Kitty Riley, a few other odd and ends and it’s all coming unraveled…”

John could feel furrows forming in between his eyebrows. “You… recanted? What?!”

Moriarty took his chin off John’s shoulder– _thank GOD_ – and pulled a different chair over. “Here, simpler to show you.”

John sat in stunned shock watching Richard Brook, sporting a livid bruise and a bloody lip, talking about how his “old friend Sherlock Holmes” turned out to be someone else, someone who had tried to kill him.  Then there was news footage of Sherlock angrily running out of the Baker Street flat and arguing with Donovan….

“Now, personally I thought it was a nice flourish to have DONOVAN be his alibi–”

“Alibi?”

“About ten minutes before he came running out into that lovely crowd of witnesses, Kitty Riley was shot by the fellow in the black coat and the curly wig.  Lots of witnesses swearing up and down that Sherlock Holmes shot her, except that he has the best alibi in the world– a pack of paparazzi and our DEAR friend Sally Donovan.”

John was still trying to process all of this but one thing stood out oddly to him. “Do I get the idea that you don’t like her either?”

“I despise her.” He said smiling cheerfully, “One of these days I’ll decide her usefulness is outweighed by my hatred and then she stops breathing, but for now she’s just too useful– also she HATED providing Sherlock with his alibi.”

“Right…” John pulled his scattered wits together, “that would cast a lot of doubt on–”

Moriarty just chuckled and started to pull up newspaper headlines, online posts: people had stepped forward to testify on Sherlock’s behalf; at least one person who had provided evidence against him came forward confessing that his wife and children had been threatened and Sherlock was innocent…

“And that’s what I was doing that first day when I had to leave you home with the pet-sitters.”

John didn’t even process the last words. “Why? Why bother?”

“If you hadn’t been listening to those SLAANderous  stories about me, Johnny Boy, you would know that  my business is built on  my keeping my word– we had a bargain,” Moriarty stood up and hauled John abruptly to his feet.

“Your life for his: Fair’s Fair, Johnny Boy, If any of this was to unravel it had to be started right away… and it’s a good thing, too; we did get… distracted.” Moriarty was sliding his hands under the sweatshirt that he’d given him.

“So my side of the bargain was paid before I collected,” Moriarty pulled him into a kiss that was positively FILTHY and John didn’t like admitting how much it got to him– although the fact that he wasn’t struggling would have been a clue.

“Now all that’s left is those pesky legal details.” Moriarty said as he pulled back from that kiss.

“WHAT legal details? It looks like all the legal problems are–”

“Oh not Sherlock’s– yours.” Moriarty said casually, walking over to the printer. “You need to sign these.”

John walked over in a daze and sat down to read what looked like some of the most archaic densely written legalese he’d ever seen. “Military legalese is clearer.”

“Well, yes, but Bond contracts are somewhat archaic laws in any case.”

“Bond contracts?!”

“You DID sell yourself to me, pet.” Moriarty said pleasantly. “Sign those and you have full legal protection as my Omega: otherwise… well, that bite fairly well handles the legal ramifications in any case, but the contract obligates me to certain minimal standards of providing for you.” He smirked at John again.

John stared at the contract.  Legally, he had no close family Alphas to speak for him, and his Beta sister Harry wasn’t fit to be his guardian.  Legally, he might have been able to run and throw himself on the mercy of a judge, but in practical fact Moriarty was right: that Bond bite gave him authority enough over John to make a Bond contract a step up.

He closed his eyes, “Oh? and what  are you obligated to– the legal minimum last time I looked was  pretty minimal.”

“True, but I am a VERY generous Alpha, and I have standards to uphold: Dig through the contract, it’s all in there.”

“No point, really.” John signed all three copies– they were dated to his agreement at the pool, signed and witnessed and completely impeccable.

“No, there wasn’t,” Moriarty was smirking at him and it was just getting on his last nerve. “After all, I’m being quite generous.”

“There is one thing I do want to do before you get on with whatever else you plan on.” John said calmly.

“That depends; do you think I’ll approve of it, pet?”

“I doubt it, but I don’t actually care,” John said punching him as hard as he could.

Moriarty fell backwards and down to the floor.

“… and I’m not a pet.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A list of things not to do, and exploring the house. John meets Sebastian...

John stepped over Moriarty, who was retching and gasping–a good shot to the solar plexus will do that–and walked out. He put his head up against the wall and counted to three, opened the medical closet, got out an instant ice bag and walked back in. He cracked the bag to activate it, made sure Moriarty was lying on his side with a clear airway, and dropped the cold pack on him. _Medical habits were almost impossible to break, sadly._

“If you feel increasing tenderness in your gut despite ice call the ambulance, but it’s very unlikely I ruptured anything given you’re an Alpha.”

John spun on his heel and walked out. Once he was past the bathroom he had to slow down, but eventually he found the kitchen. It was huge, and looked professional–like people did catering here or something–but John didn’t feel up to cooking. He’d had one meal shake and one bottle of electrolyte in two days or more, and he wanted FOOD damn it!

He was sitting at a kitchen counter, eating his first sandwich and waiting for the kettle, when a tall military man walked in. John’s nose caught a whiff of Alpha, and unexpectedly he started to feel extremely uneasy.

The Alpha stopped and stared at him; John felt more uneasy, and shifted to looking at the sandwich while watching the man out of the corner of his eye.

The strange Alpha grinned at him, “Awww… Did Jim send you out to make him a sandwich?”

John bristled, “No, and go away.” Right, newly bonded Omegas didn’t like strange Alphas around them–it had never bothered him before... “You’re a strange Alpha, and you should leave.” John tried to be polite.

The Alpha laughed, “Well, if that sandwich is for Jim you made it wrong, but I’m sure you’ll catch on to all the little domestic chores,” and the strange Alpha reached out to pick up John’s second sandwich.

John didn’t think, he just growled at the Alpha. _MY food-not my Alpha!_

“Jim was right, that’s kind of cute–” The strange Alpha tried to pat John on the head and John let loose. He hit him with a strike to the gut, followed up with a foot sweep, and followed him down to the ground with a middle knuckle punch into the shoulder.

He was deciding what to DO about the man when a hand grabbed him, pinching into his wounded shoulder and stopping JUST short of crippling pain–he hadn’t noticed anyone coming up behind him. _Alpha_ … John whimpered in the back of his throat.

“Now pet–John–I NEED Sebastian… Let’s not cripple the poor, helpless Alpha.” Jim’s voice was pleasant, but there was an undercurrent of anger. John relaxed his hands carefully and held them out, while dropping from a ready crouch to both knees on the ground.

The strange Alpha–whose name was apparently Sebastian–was lying curled up on the floor, hissing.

“I warned him.” John said slowly.

“Stay.” Alpha–Moriarty–told him firmly, and then let go of his shoulder. “Sebastian?”

“Glg… The fuck?” He gasped out. “I can’t breathe!”

“Can too, or you wouldn’t be able to talk.” John grumbled.

“You do seem to be breathing, Sebie,” Moriarty said pleasantly.

“My arm doesn’t move?” Sebastian sounded pained and confused.

“Pressure point,” John grumbled some more. “It’s not even broken.”

Moriarty picked up the second sandwich.

“Wouldn’t… do that, Sir… He got really upset.”

“Oh?” Moriarty bit into the sandwich, watching John.

John felt vaguely annoyed, like he would if Sherlock didn’t refill the kettle or something. _Oh_. “The strange Alpha tried to take my food, and then he tried to TOUCH me.” John sighed, “He was a threat. You’re MY Alpha–I just think you’re an asshole.”

Moriarty stared down at him with a mouthful of sandwich and started to snicker; after a few moments he looked at Sebastian. “You tried to TOUCH a newly Bonded Omega? Honestly Sebastian, any normal Omega would have screamed and then their Alpha would have shown up and gone after you.”

“I was trying to pat him on the head–bad idea?” Sebastian was still wheezing a bit but he sounded better.

Moriarty was snickering even harder–and eating John’s sandwich, damn it–“Apparently you don’t pat him on the head, or call him ‘pet’.”

John was still kneeling on the ground keeping his hands in sight when Moriarty nodded at him, “You can get up.” He got up slowly; Moriarty mostly seemed to be watching him with some amusement, but it was hard to tell with him. “Kettle’s ready,” Moriarty said calmly.

“Right…” John forced himself to turn his back to them–his shoulder HURT, damn it–and started making tea: the routine helped sooth his nerves. It wasn’t until he was pouring two cups that he realized he’d defaulted to habit.

“I take mine with more cream.” Moriarty apparently had been watching.

John added more cream with a sigh and put it down in front of the man. He’d apparently gotten Sebastian up and into a chair–Sebastian was looking at him with a stunned expression.

“Omegas don’t… uh…”

John bristled again, “Don’t go to medical school, don’t go into the Army, and definitely don’t run around with lunatic detectives–your point?”

“As I said, Sebie: this one’s extraordinary.” Moriarty sounded almost pleased.

John blinked a lot. “What did you say?” _That… almost sounded like a compliment._

“Make yourself some more food if you like. The gym is downstairs if you want to get some exercise, the library is on this floor–don’t try to leave the house, you wouldn’t like the results–and I expect you to be back to get cleaned up and dressed for dinner by six.” Moriarty took off a watch that probably cost more than his military pay and handed it to him.

“Come along Sebastian, we have business to discuss.” Moriarty got up and walked away without a backward glance. Sebastian kept looking back at John and rubbing his shoulder.

“Ice for the first few hours!” John called out reflexively, and then he muttered, “Not that you lot ever listen.” He thought he heard Moriarty chuckle.

John ate another sandwich, drank his tea, and eventually started exploring the house.

The gym turned out to rival any professional set up he’d ever seen. John spent quite a while working out, showered, wandered back up to the kitchen for more snacks, and eventually explored the rest of the house. A lot of areas were closed off, but yes, there was a library. He curled up in one of the very comfortable chairs with a stack of books–including a beautifully illustrated copy of Alice in Wonderland–and lost track of the time.

“Ahem. I did say by six.” Moriarty’s voice startled him right out of the Star Trek novel he was reading.

John looked up at him: he was dressed in business casual and looking down at the stack of books. “It is?” He looked down at the watch… “Shit.”

“You have… interesting taste in reading material–not what I would have expected.” Moriarty raised an eyebrow.

“Classics and Science Fiction?”

“Alice in Wonderland and Star Trek.”

“Well, you don’t have any Doctor Who novels and I haven’t seen a telly anywhere,” John shrugged and stood up, putting the book down carefully.

Moriarty just made a “hmmm” noise and walked away with an obvious expectation that John would follow him. “It’s a bit late to get properly cleaned up, but you aren’t eating dinner in your gym clothes.”

John was walked into the bedroom again and waved at one of the wardrobes, “I put your clothes in there. Sweats go in the laundry, of course.” And he sat down and watched him.

 _Right, privacy was a lost cause._ John opened the wardrobe expecting to find something utterly humiliating, but instead he found neatly folded slacks, shirts, and a few jumpers–really nice ones.

“Problem?”

“I expected something degrading, based on the way you were treating me.”

Moriarty smirked at him again, “Oh, I have that… but not in front of the staff.”

“You didn’t have any problem ordering them to put me in shackles.” John pointed out as he changed into the clothes– _and of course they fit, he’s like Sherlock: can probably tell your shoe size by looking at your eyelashes or something._

“That’s just being a prisoner.” After a pause, he said, “Besides, you needed a lesson.”

John finished pulling on his clothes and lacing up his shoes– _yup, they fit_ –“And for this morning?”

“After dinner,” Moriarty tilted his head thoughtfully, “I am rather deducting some of the penalties on the grounds that you were hungry–I’m not used to worrying about feeding anyone but myself, and honestly I have to be reminded to eat often enough.”

“Wonderful!” John pinched the bridge of his nose, “So you don’t eat either. I trust you don’t store body parts in the fridge?”

Moriarty laughed, “No.”

John followed him to the more formal dining area, and a professionally prepared dinner– _yes there was a chef in the kitchen_ –was put in front of him. John stared in dismay at the array of utensils, wine glasses and other things associated with formal dinners.

“I’ll teach you– Hmm… Actually, I’ll have a tutor brought in. You’ll need to be able to handle a formal dinner, Johnny.”

“Why?” John almost squeaked in dismay.

~

Jim started to snicker again and finally lost it. His Omega had taken him down in one shot and then gotten him an ice pack; taken Sebastian–of all people!–down in three shots and was clearly prepared and able to kill him with his bare hands… and he was looking terrorized at a formal dinner setting.

It took him a while to stop laughing. “Oh my God, you are adorable…”

John was looking at him with the most utterly perplexed look, “Have… Have you considered sanity? Just as a hobby or something?”

Jim grinned at him, “No, not really, it’s over-rated; besides, you don’t actually like it or you wouldn’t hang about with Sherlock.”

John actually winced. “Touché,” he muttered under his breath.

Jim pulled his chair around to sit next to him instead of across and started walking him through the tableware and glassware. The quality of the food did seem to take his mind off of a lot, though, so that helped. _Clearly, I need to make sure I keep him fed_.

“I didn’t mean to starve you, Johnny. I’m not used to a…”–he started to say ‘pet’ and decided against it–“dependent.”

John bristled a bit at that, too. _Well, he had spent his whole life trying not to be, I suppose._

“I was probably not thinking as clearly as I should have myself,” Jim allowed after a pause. “Now normally we’d have dessert but–”

John winced slightly and then his military posture came up again. “Right.”

It was rather surreal how he followed him back to the bedroom: he clearly didn’t WANT to be punished but he seemed to be treating it like a court-martial and soldiering on under orders. _I wonder how far his obedience goes?_

“Strip. I wouldn’t want to ruin your new clothes.” Jim waved a hand and watched as the man stripped with military precision. Jim idly wondered what he expected… then, as he watched the muscles twitching under John’s skin, he started wondering what he got off on. He certainly did seem to be inclined to follow orders and it had been obvious for a long time that he was addicted to danger and threat…

Hmmm…

As an experiment, he tossed him the wrist cuffs–these were far more padded than the handcuffs, but despite that much stronger. “Put those on and lie down on the bed–face down.” He deliberately put a menacing tone in his voice: John’s reactions were beautiful.

John glared at him with eyes that were getting darker, even as his expression was tight lipped anger. He put the cuffs on and lay down on the bed as ordered, clearly bracing for being struck. Jim locked the chain to the head of the bed and walked away to where he’d put his purchases.

“Sebastian shouldn’t have–” John started to say and Jim suddenly realized he didn’t understand.

“Oh! No, no, no! I already told Sebastian he deserved that and that he was lucky I’d rescued him at all if he was going to be that much of an idiot!” Jim turned around and walked back over and put his hand down gently on John’s shoulder, right by the scar–John’s back muscles rippled and tensed so beautifully and his breathing became more rapid.

“I’m not going to punish you for Sebastian, although I would prefer you not damage him. If he ever gives you any trouble, just let me know and I’ll handle it, but he shouldn’t–I was quite firm.” Jim leaned forward and whispered in his ear–and he put as much threat and sex into it as he could, which was quite a lot–“This is for me, PET…”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> punishment, reward, and a chat

“I’m not a PET!” snapped John, rather predictably.

“Then learn to behave yourself.” Jim ran a single finger down John’s back. “You’re either a pet…or my Omega.”

“Like there’s a difference?!” John snarled.

“Oh, several.” Jim snickered. “A disobedient PET might take a swing at me– I do keep dangerous creatures– but my Omega wouldn’t; they’d only take a swing at someone else, like Sebastian, and only if he was being an idiot or a threat.”

“What if YOU’RE being an idiot or a threat?!”

“Well, I’m very rarely an idiot, and I would NEVER be a real threat to my Omega…” He leaned forward again and licked John’s shoulder right over the scar– John almost twisted off the bed– “Unless he wanted me to, of course.”

“You’re daft!”

“You live on danger: you love it.” Jim smirked down at him, watching him trying to figure out how to deal with this.

“That’s what Mycroft said.” John grumbled.

 _Mycroft!_ Jim’s temper flared. He brought the riding crop down across John’s arse with a sharp crack: John screamed and then gritted his teeth the way he had when he wouldn’t beg.

“Don’t mention him in my bedroom, pet, it annoys me.” Jim said pleasantly– feeling anything but pleasant.

“I would think mentioning Sherlock would annoy you!”

“Not really, no.” Jim shrugged. “Now then, ten shots I think, that’s fair. Start counting.”

Jim brought the crop down and John gritted out “Two.”

“Do tell me you know how to count?” Jim raised an eyebrow, “That was one, and now we begin again.”

“That was TWO,” John snarled.

“Ah, I see… No, that other strike was for mentioning big brother in my bedroom– doesn’t count: begin again.” Jim brought the crop down on his other cheek.

“…One.” John hissed through gritted teeth.

Jim took his time, varying the intensity and the timing– keeping him from getting a rhythm going or anticipating properly.  It was only ten shots, but he was certain to John they felt like far more. 

Jim stepped back to admire his work: John was rigid and tense on the bed, hands balled into fists, feet braced as much as he could– hard as a rock of course. He put the crop down on the bedside table and got out a few of the other toys.

“I said ten; I’m done– with that.”

“I… don’t… trust… you.”  John panted.

“Because you’re very clever and observant!” Jim said happily.  He started working John over with the vibrator.

“What?!”

“Did you know that flogging or caning someone brings blood flow to the surface and makes a person MUCH more sensitive to stimulation?” Jim asked him idly, “I’m sure you understand the mechanism, you are a doctor after all, but given your need to stay discreet, I doubt you played much with submission…”

“Stop.” John was gritting his teeth and trying to sound unhappy, but Jim could see how hard he was, and the tell-tale scent of slick was increasing.

“Well, if you were my Omega, we’d probably have a safeword or something,” Jim said idly. “As it is, I’m just going to lock you into a harness with a vibrator and go back to work until you learn your lesson.”

John tried to fight him: Jim just grinned even more and enjoyed the show. Now that he had some idea what John was CAPABLE of, he knew how to handle him– especially with his wrists bound to the bed.  It took a while but eventually Jim locked John in a cock-cage and a lovely vibrating butt plug.

“You are fucking SICK!”

“Am I? I bought these in London when I was out…” Jim licked John’s neck and brought a hand down sharply across his ass.  John hissed but wouldn’t scream… his breathing pattern said he was getting far too worked up though. Jim grinned down at him, “So there are enough people buying things like this to pay the rather high rent– If I’m sick, I’m not alone,” he  stroked  across the welts and whispered, “besides, you love it.”

John demonstrated a facility and fluency with cursing that left Jim blinking.

“Huh… I don’t even know half of those… was that Pashto toward the end there?” Jim asked. John lay there with a glare that should be able to blister paint if his cursing hadn’t managed it already.

“Well, I’m going to get back to work.  When you want to be let out and fucked, you just… beg. I don’t know if you remember how, but you did a lovey job of it–”  John managed to get  one of his legs up to  try to kick Jim, but he’d been ready for it and he just held his ankle well up off the bed. “Ta!” and he slid off the bed and went back to work.

Half an hour later and Jim looked up from the computer with a frown. _I haven’t heard anything but breathing…_ He turned the camera on the computer and looked over his shoulder that way: John was lying still, turned on his side, breathing evenly… but he was sweating, and his muscles twitched.  Jim grinned and turned the vibrations to random highs and lows– John started cursing: Jim grinned to himself and went back to work, glancing at the camera every now and then.

After an hour Jim had to admit he was hellaciously impressed, and about to die of blue balls. He hadn’t gotten much actual work done in the last half hour listening to John breathing raggedly and moaning… and the smell would have driven lesser Alphas mad. He closed the laptop and stripped for bed. John made a whimpering moan that pulled an answering growl from Jim before he could stop himself.

“Now Pet… I DID say I wasn’t going to fuck you until you begged, so either beg or be quiet.” _That came out less impassive and more Alpha is upset than I intended… Ooohhh but John’s breathing picked up again: right, adrenaline._

Jim stalked over to the bed and pounced on him, digging his hands into the welts on his ass he growled into John’s throat, “So either beg, or go the fuck to sleep.”

John closed his eyes, looking like he was in pain and then opened them again, “Fine!” he snarled, “I’m begging.  Please fuck me. There, are you happy?! You are a sadistic son of a bitch and I hope you CHOKE!” he trailed off into a desperate gasp.

 _Oh thank God_.  “CERTAINLY, John; we can work on improving your phrasing a bit later.” Jim forced his hands to be steady as he turned off the vibrator and unlocked the harness. Jim got out a bit of lube- John having dried out a bit from the over stimulation when not in Heat– and with incredible relief pushed into him.

“Get this God-be-fucking-damned thing off my DICK!” John practically screamed as Jim thrust into him.

“Why?” Jim viciously angled the thrust to hit John’s prostate and John clenched around him and moaned.

John set up another round of curses; Jim thrust into him again– pulling his hips up to keep the angle JUST so… “Okay, I give up, please! God, get this thing…! Please! Fuuuuuck!...” he trailed off into a shrieking whine that was frankly unpleasant.  Jim unlocked the cage and pulled it free. The sensation as John bucked was enough to send Jim over the edge, and John collapsed almost immediately after.

~

“Oh now THAT was fun, Johnny Boy,” Jim said breathlessly. “Wanna do it again?”

 _Oh dear God no!_ John stared at him with wide terrified eyes, “You wouldn’t…?”

Jim grinned down at him.

John suddenly felt his self-preservation instinct kick his stubborn streak to the curb and he swallowed hard and said, “Please fuck me and don’t do that again.” He felt himself ducking his head and baring his neck by reflex.

Jim didn’t move for a moment but then he nipped very lightly at the Bond bite and John’s nerves lit up: John whimpered incoherently.

“You’re adorable.” Jim lifted his chin back up and stared down at him. “I think you deserve a reward, now that we’re done punishing you…”

 _Whatever this was it was totally not a good thing, not with that look in his eyes!_ “Uh, no! Really, I’ll just very quietly–” John cut off with a whimper as Jim slid down his body toward his crotch. He braced for anything…

Except that.

Alpha’s didn’t give blowjobs.  It was a fact, like… like… facts… that… mattered… John’s head hit the bed as he arched up into Moriarty’s mouth. John had, in his time with various women, had blowjobs– in fact he’d had some pretty darn great blow jobs–this made all of them fade into insignificance.  Jim brought him to the edge fast and hard and then backed off and held him there, trembling, completely lost.

Words were pouring out of him; they might have been begging.

John fell over the edge and went out like a light.

…

John woke up from another nightmare, panicking and lost.

“Shhhh….. shhhhh… It’s alright….” A voice was right near his ear. A tongue licked across a spot near his neck and he curled into his Alpha, purring. He went back to sleep.

…

John woke up when the body in his arms moved.  For just a moment he couldn’t place anything and then it all came back… he closed his eyes and let his head fall back ono the pillow.

“Hmmm… morning.” Jim smirked at him.

“Do you have ANY other damned expression?” John snapped.

Moriarty started blinking a lot, “What?”

John extricated his arm, which appeared to be under the man, and tried to wave at his face– Moriarty grinned and snapped his teeth at him; John yanked his hand back–“Smirking! You’re always smirking at me!”

Moriarty got a sort of thoughtful look and cocked his head at him. “Is THAT what keeps setting you off?”

“What?”

“You keep rather unexpectedly bristling,” Moriarty sat up and started stretching.

John sat up and pulled away from him in the bed and rather confusedly realized he wasn’t restrained. “uh…” he looked around and finally spotted the cuffs still attached to the bed, but not to his wrists. “When did…?”

“You had a nightmare and thrashed a lot, I unlocked them.”  Moriarty appeared to be doing a good bit of stretching to one shoulder, as though he couldn’t… John recognized that: he couldn’t get the joint settled properly.  Without thinking much John reached over and took hold of his shoulder and upper arm.

Moriarty snarled and his other hand came up fast, but John was intent on the upper arm and shoulder and didn’t even blink.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Subluxation… tension… Have you had physical therapy?”

Moriarty slowly relaxed a bit, “Not really. Sebastian worked on me a bit; he has some training from the military.”

John was carefully palpating the shoulder and frowning at it. “You did some damage to this and you really need physical therapy: sports?”

“Mycroft having me put in suspension in his cells.”

John froze. “What did you say?”

Moriarty rolled them over and ended up on top of John, looking down at him with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes one bit. “Not overly long after the last time we met at the pool, after Irene, Mycroft had me picked up and interrogated.”

“But you were fund not guilty!” John protested.  “How could he even have you arrested?”

Moriarty pushed himself up on his arms and moved to straddle John. “Arrested? What a cute idea– I was never arrested, no records, no lawyers… just Mycroft and his boys working me over in a government building that was ADMIRABLY well equipped for it.” He made that teeth baring not smile face again, “Sherlock was in on it too, of course.”

“What?  why… I don’t understand… WHY?!”

“Hmm, you really don’t know. My apologies, I assumed you did– know something at least. Oh, and it was after Irene but before the Crown Jewels.”

“I- I can believe Mycroft having someone whisked off illegally– he pretty well did it to me–”

Moriarty jerked and looked down at John intently. “He what?”

“Had me taken off to a warehouse and threatened, basically. He tried to bribe me to spy on Sherlock– didn’t bother to tell me he was his brother; I thought he was a crime boss or something.”

“Nothing that petty; he runs most of the intelligence for Britain.”

“I found that out… he had you interrogated?  They used suspension?” John had the horrifying feeling it was perfectly true.

“They used whatever wouldn’t leave too many marks,” Moriarty slowly relaxed his arms and settled down to lie full length on top of John, “but my shoulder still bothers me a lot.”

“I’m…” sorry wasn’t quite right, and he wouldn’t lie. “I can do some work, but you need a good physical therapist.  Physical therapy… it’s specialized training.  I probably have more than most, but it’s not the same.”

“Sebie usually has to pull it back into position if I sleep on it wrong.”

“I can do that much.”

Moriarty raised an eyebrow, “You’re strong, but I am an Alpha.”

John couldn’t help but smile, “MILITARY doctor, remember?  I treated Alphas all the time. Most Alphas end up in the military after all.”

Moriarty rolled off of him and off the bed in one smooth motion; he stood there and spread his arms, “Alright.”

John got up. “This may hurt a bit…” He REALLY didn’t want to get punished. The sex was fantastic but the tied up and desperate… he shuddered.

“I think I can tell the difference between attacking me and medical treatment.” Moriarty smirked at him, “besides you’ll get a safeword if you start behaving.”

“Right. One bloody thing at a time.” John took his arm and considered. “I need you to try to relax, can you do that?”

Moriarty took a deep breath and a pleasant vacant look crept over his features that was ALL   wrong, but his muscles started to unlock.  John re-settled his shoulder without difficulty– Moriarty never even blinked.

“Hello?” John gently shook him– nothing.  He took advantage of  the breathing space to look Moriarty over carefully: a few old knife wounds, a bullet scar… and an awful lot of the very subtle scars and marks that John had seen on people who had been ‘interrogated’ by the more careful sorts.  Moriarty might be able to lie without a tell, but his body had the record.

“I asked you before if you liked what you saw, Johnny Boy.” Moriarty said, having woken up or whatever without John noticing.

“Chemicals, electricity, suspension, small sharps… I expect waterboarding but that doesn’t show.” John was beginning to feel a familiar cold fury building up.

Moriarty looked intrigued at him. “Spot on.  You didn’t know before, though.”

“Front lines medical with extra combat training.” John said his clipped military tones returning, “Guess who was one of the first in if we found someplace they were holding people? I was specifically TRAINED to recognize torture, document it, and stabilize people for extraction.” John shoved his temper down under training and orders.

“Were you now?” Moriarty’s voice was soft and marveling. John suddenly found himself pulled into a kiss and shoved back on the bed. “The things I missed… I always wanted a personal physician that didn’t need to be held at gunpoint.”

“What makes you think you don’t need to hold me at gunpoint?” John gasped when he was let up for air.

“Do I need to?”

“You’re holding Sherlock…”

“No… I’m really not.  You made a deal.” Moriarty smiled down at him, “And you have to admit… you’ll get your adrenaline fix.”

John winced. “No more chaining me up and–”

“Weeeeelllll…” Moriarty tilted his head and looked innocent, “You’ll get a safeword, anyway.”

“Right.” John said as Moriarty proceeded to distract him by sitting naked across his crotch.

“And do you know any other Alpha who WANTS to let you keep carrying a gun? Or practicing medicine? Or arguing with him?”

John was deeply suspicious, “You do?”

“Of course.” Moriarty leaned forward and licked his jawline and started whispering in his ear, “I’m rich and people are terrified of me; if I had ever WANTED an Omega I could have had one– could have had five for all it matters–but I never was interested. Why would I want a useless bit of social status you can fuck? I decided to keep YOU Johnny Boy because you’re different– I may be one of the few Alphas that thinks it’s sexy that you took down my guards; that you took down Sebastian.”

“Then why punish me?!”

“Only one person does the manipulating around here, Johnny, and that’s me.” Moriarty smirked down at him, “And dropping me puking into my carpet is out of bounds– even if it is impressive.”

“You… actually want me to be a doctor?”

“Mmm-Hmmm.”

“And… If I say stop, you’ll… stop?”

“I suspect you really want me to GO, not STOP, but I get your point.”

“Alright… we have a deal.”

“We already had one, Johnny Boy; this is just negotiating benefit increases.” Moriarty grinned at him wickedly, “Now much as I’d love to fuck you into the mattress right this instant, I think we both need breakfast.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time to refresh the Evil Overlords list.

“So you only have a chef for dinner?” John was assembling a breakfast for the two of them that was probably far simpler than what Moriarty usually ate.

“I have a full time chef, but I typically have him do the shopping, set up an easy-to-manage lunch, and prepare dinner–breakfast is on my own.”

John sat down to eat and hissed. _Right: riding crop._

Moriarty just grinned at him. John ate quietly, glaring in his direction as he tried to find some way to sit comfortably.

“Padded chairs for a while, I expect,” Moriarty said sounding oh-so-innocent.

Sebastian strode in. “Boss, I–” he cut off and came to a dead stop, looking a bit nervously at John.

It might be petty, but it did make John feel a bit better. He looked at Moriarty who was busy looking completely oblivious– _Yeah, right_ –“So I can hit HIM?”

“Only if he behaves badly,” Moriarty said firmly, but the corner of his mouth was twitching up.

“Uh… I can come back after–”

“Sebie,” Moriarty drawled, “get your ass in here and report: what is it?”

Sebastian walked wide away from John and handed Moriarty a computer pad. He sat there reading through it and looking increasingly annoyed.

“Idiots… Alright, I’ll try to deal with this; maybe if I drew up the instructions in cartoons?” He snorted and then looked up at John, “Sorry, Johnny, dealing with idiots who can’t follow simple instructions. Can you entertain yourself for a few hours?”

“I– I think I can manage.” _He… He told me? He asked if I was going to be alright? He didn’t just go muttering off?_

“Johnny? Are you alright? You look…”

“Just… Yes, I’m fine. Can I come back into the bedroom to get workout gear or should I go straight to the library?”

“Oh! Oh, whatever,” Moriarty smiled briefly. “If I have to be on anything that transmits sound or video I won’t be in that room.” He got up and walked off, waving at Sebastian to follow him.

John sat there–well stood there, really; it was more comfortable–and finished his breakfast. As he cleared the dishes away he wondered if Sherlock was worried about him, and if there was any way to let him know he was alright. _Probably not: haven’t even seen a phone in this place._

John went to the library and read, but made a point of keeping track of the time, and when it seemed a bit late for lunch he went back to the kitchen: it was still as it had been…

There were jars with freeze-dried vegetables and meat, and labels that said ‘just add hot water’: not pre-fab at all, so the chef must make them up. John made up a couple of soups and sandwiches… still no sign of Moriarty.

“They have a lot in common,” John sighed. He ate his lunch, then took a thermos of soup and a sandwich and went looking for him.

He wasn’t in the bedroom. After not very long, John found a guard stationed outside a hallway door.

“You can’t go in,” the guard said in a bored tone.

John just looked at him and said drily, “Fine then, YOU tell him you kept his lunch from being delivered; damned if I’m getting punished for it.” Say things calmly and with the assumption that you were right and most enlisted fell into line–hell, most officers; besides, no one wanted to buck orders.

The guard stared at the thermos and sandwich and then down the hall. “He didn’t say anything…”

John just rolled his eyes, “Of course not–probably doesn’t even know what time it is; he gets like that when he’s busy.” He saw that hit, so he was that much like Sherlock, at least.

“Go on, then, but it’s on you if he rips your head off,” the guard said finally and nodded him past.

“Isn’t it always?” John muttered. Guards were the same the world over: no one wanted to keep the Commander from getting his lunch.

He walked in to a room at the end of the hall. Moriarty was sitting in front of an array of computer screens–it looked like a tactical display from a Bond movie except more realistic, and John could only decipher a few maps; Sebastian was sitting nearby with his feet up.

Moriarty was snarling and snapping at the displays, but it didn’t sound like he was talking TO anyone, so John assumed there were no microphones. Sebastian’s head snapped over as John walked up and he tensed; John just shook his head at him and held up the plate–he got an incredulous look in return.

John put the plate and thermos down next to Moriarty, “Lunch.”

Moriarty spun and stared at him with his mouth open; John had to admit that he got a bit of a kick from it and tried to keep the smirk off his face–probably failed.

“How did you get past–” Moriarty dragged a hand down his face, “Did you break the guard, Johnny?”

“Never even touched him.”

“Then how did you get in?”

John glanced over at Sebastian and shrugged, “Told him he’d take the punishment if the Commander didn’t get his lunch, not me.” He put on an enlisted man’s snivel, “I did MY duty…”

Sebastian stared at him and then cracked up, “Oh, Lord have mercy! That worked?”

“Only way it would have been better would be if I had a clipboard,” John said drily, “but a plate and a thermos seems to work.”

Moriarty was looking back and forth between them with a slightly perplexed look, “Seb?”

“He played the ‘I’m doing my job, it’s not my fault if no one told you,’ card,” Sebastian grinned. “Military, so he’d be good at it.”

Moriarty smiled faintly, “Time to remind the guards of the Evil Overlord List.”

Sebastian looked at John and shrugged, “He isn’t a random stranger pulling a surprise inspection, Sir. It’s a security issue, but not a bad one.”

“You’ve READ the evil overlord’s list?” John felt a bit dazed. _He read science fiction and knew the Evil Overlord’s List?_

Moriarty grinned, “I have a copy taped to the inside of one of my wardrobes.” He glanced down at the plate, “It’s lunchtime already?” then looked at the time on his computer. “Tsk… So it is.”

“You said you forget to eat.”

Moriarty actually smiled at him– _It looked wicked but… in a friendly wicked sort of way?_ –“True. Thank you, Johnny.”

_He said thank you?_

“Is there a problem?”

“Just… different.”

“I’ll be a few more hours; one of my clients managed to completely mess up a perfectly simple instruction. Thanks for lunch, though.”

John nodded, “If I could ask a favor?”

“You can always ask…” He made it sound like a tease.

“Can you let Sherlock know I’m alright? I doubt he cares much, but it will probably get him to–”

Moriarty stared at him, “You doubt he… Johnny Boy, you have no idea…” He blinked a lot, “You really have no idea, do you?”

“Christ! Please tell me he at least noticed I was MISSING?!” John looked between Moriarty and Sebastian: Sebastian was staring at him and Moriarty had started shaking his head and looking amused.

“Johnny Boy, you are a really odd duck… YES, he noticed you were missing and the Iceman retrieved your phone from the pool like I thought he would, and I’ve been getting increasingly desperate texts from Sherlock alternately threatening and begging for me to return you.” He took a bite of the sandwich. “I told him to calm down but for SOME reason he doesn’t trust me–wonder why? This is good, by the way.”

John stared at him, “Oh. Uh…”

“You really thought he might not have noticed you were GONE?”

“I thought he would have–eventually.” John shrugged, “Probably when he got back from your distraction and no one was around to make his tea.”

“Judging from the timing of the texts and big brother swinging into action, he thought you’d gone to work before he got up and didn’t notice until you were rather late getting home the next day.” Moriarty shrugged, “Which was convenient, since it gave me the day to start pulling things apart before anyone looked.”

“Oh.”

“Since then, he’s been going to pieces.” Moriarty turned a VERY predatory look at him and John felt a warm flush that he tried to ignore, “Probably imagines I’m doing terribly wicked things to you–which I am, of course–but I doubt he’s imagining the right ones.”

“Right… Uh… Can you pass him a message? To let him know I’m alright?”

Moriarty smiled, “Of course…” and then he lidded his eyes and almost purred, “It will cost you, though.”

John felt himself getting warm, and wet, and kept himself upright with effort–Sebastian’s nostrils flared but he didn’t move.

“I’m sure it will.” John tried very hard to convince himself he was dreading it.

*

Lestrade was in shock. Sherlock came on the case, looked around quietly, told them who did it and where to look for more evidence, and left. He didn’t insult anyone, he didn’t talk to anyone–he just looked tense. There was no sign of John.

Once the case was wrapped up, he went to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson let him in, looking worried.

“Please see if you can get him to eat anything…” She wrung her hands at him. “He’s not well–hasn’t even shot at anything in days!”

“I’ll do my best… He wasn’t acting like himself at the crime scene.”

“He’s spending all his time trying to find John, poor man.”

“Trying to find… What happened to John? There hasn’t been any kind of missing person’s report!” Lestrade turned and went up the stairs calling Sherlock. He eventually found him sitting on the sofa staring at John’s chair.

“Sherlock?”

“Greg.”

“Okay, you used my real name, now I KNOW somethings wrong. What happened? Mrs. Hudson said John was missing?”

“Moriarty has him.”

“Uh… Wait… The bomb guy? The one that turned out to be an actor, only he was hired by the real one?”

“Yes, no, that is Moriarty.”

Greg decided he would never understand it so he stuck to the main point. “So… it’s not like you to sit around, what’s going on?”

“All the evidence he planted against me has been coming apart, you must have noticed.” Sherlock looked at Greg and his eyes were ice.

“Yeah.” His voice softened, “It was pretty damning stuff, and then it just fell apart.”

“Moriarty meant to destroy me, and then probably kill me or force me to kill myself: absolute, utter destruction.”

“Then… what happened?”

“John. John appears to have somehow convinced him to undo it all…”

“And… John is missing?”

“Yes. God only knows what he’s doing to him,” Sherlock got up and paced. “Moriarty has sent me a few replies, mostly telling me to stop trying to find him and so on.”

“Well can you–” Greg cut off when Sherlock DOVE on a phone that beeped.

Sherlock stared at the phone and collapsed onto the sofa again. “He couldn’t have gotten that out of him, could he?”

“Sherlock, what? I don’t understand?”

Sherlock ignored him, stood up, and dialed a different phone that he pulled out of his pocket. “He contacted me again: this time with a code I gave John.”

Greg glanced at the open text message:

“Johnny Boy said to tell you “Bene placito” and “Cadenza” and then grumbled something about how if you didn’t eat something he was going to run a nasogastric tube–he actually seemed surprised that you were worried.–JM”

Sherlock was saying something about how it sounded right, and “John wouldn’t talk”.

Greg interrupted, “Sherlock? It’s John, and he’s alright.”

“How do you KNOW that?” Sherlock snapped at him. “It’s been days, no one can hold out forever.”

Greg shook his head, “If you weren’t so upset, you’d see it yourself. I’ve worked hostage cases before: this guy said John grumbled about how JOHN was going to run a nasogastric tube… He’s not thinking about it, but he just repeated what John said… And John wasn’t saying “Tell Molly to” or “Tell me to” or “You’re going to need…”–he said HE would. It’s an expectation that he’ll survive to bitch at you.”

Sherlock stared back at the text message. Greg could hear someone speaking urgently on the other phone: Sherlock pushed buttons to forward the text to someone else.

Sherlock stood very still, staring at the wall. After a while he spoke into the phone, “What do you mean he’s right?” Then a short pause, “Why would Moriarty want to lessen my anxiety; he should be trying to increase it!” After a while, Sherlock sighed and hung up.

“He agrees with you, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

“John’s a pretty cool customer,” Greg came over and patted at his shoulder, “If anyone could talk down a hostage situation I’m betting he could–you couldn’t.”

Sherlock smiled wryly, “No, I’d make it worse.” He took something out of his pocket and stuck it up his nose and snorted.

Greg grabbed it, “Jesus, Sherlock! You can’t use drugs right in FRONT of me!”

Sherlock blinked at him several times–he looked like he’d had heroin, not cocaine, and was sagging slowly into the chair. “It’s prescription…”

Greg glared at him and then looked down at the object in his hands–damned if it didn’t have a prescription label! Greg stared at the “Alpha” designation on the tube… “Alpha?”

“I’d rather thought that was obvious?”

“Err… no?”

“Oh, yes, both my brother and I are–so is Moriarty, although he hides it well.” Sherlock sighed and his eyes looked a bit more normal and less furiously cold. “Do– Do you really think he’s alright?”

“Got no idea what the codes mean, but yeah.”

“I never expected him to use them; I drilled him on them in case I needed to. It means roughly ‘stand down and let me play this my way’.”

Greg nodded slowly, “Stand down, let me play this my way… and, God damn it, eat something since I’m not there to take care of you.”

“He always was complaining about that…”

“IS, Sherlock. He’s alive and well and trying to tell you he needs YOU to stay alive and well, alright?”

Sherlock nodded slowly.

“When’s the last time you actually ate anything?”

“A while,” he waved a hand vaguely.

“Right.” Greg hauled him up out of the chair. “Come on, let’s get you some food…”

“Why would John not think I was worried?” Sherlock asked him later, sounding very much younger and less certain than usual.

“Well, you don’t act like you care much.” Greg sighed, “I know better, and I bet normally John would too, but hostage situations are pretty high stress.”

“I’ve been horribly worried. I hate it.”

Greg nodded and tried to get him to eat more food, “Well, whatever’s happening, John thinks he can handle it; now take care of you.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences, medical and politics of a sort

Moriarty found him before a late dinner and made him get cleaned up and changed into something with a jacket. Over dinner he went over the tableware again, which was good because there appeared to be more of it.

“Tomorrow we get to go shopping, Johnny.”

“We do?”

“Mmm-Hmmm.” Moriarty nodded, “We’ll get you measured for some proper suits, go shopping for some toys and–” he tilted his head thoughtfully, “You really aren’t the jewelry sort, are you?”

“Jewelry? Uh…no?” John stared at him, “Jewelry?”

Moriarty shrugged, “Omegas usually like jewelry, of course I’ve always wondered if it was just because it’s portable and easy to fence but hey… just proves they have some sense.”

“I honestly don’t know; I’ve only ever met two other Omegas– unless you count the one they had us examine in medical school– and since I ‘wasn’t an Omega’ I doubt they would talk to me about anything.” John suddenly had a sinking feeling, “Please tell me you aren’t going to make me wear an Omega collar.”

Moriarty got that oddly predatory look again, “It would look good on you…”

John put his hands in his lap and balled his fists and took several deep breaths. “No.”

Moriarty started laughing, “Oh GOD Johnny Boy, you are FAR too easy to wind up!”

John looked at him suspiciously, “What?”

“As if anyone would believe you were an Omega,”  he snickered. “You’d look like a very uncomfortable Beta trying to make their gay boyfriend happy.”

“Probably.” John didn’t quite know whether to relax or not, “Please don’t?”

Moriarty grinned at him, “THERE you go Johnny Boy, ‘Please’. It works wonders.  No, I don’t want you in a collar– well, outside of the bedroom,” he smirked very evilly, “In the bedroom is another matter, you look good in restraints.”

John had utterly no idea how to respond to that, so he tried to ignore it.

“Now then, about the cost of that–”

Moriarty’s phone started playing a song; John caught, “Put on your war paint, Cross walks and crossed hearts and hope-to-dies–” and Moriarty picked up.

“Problem Tiger?” then he sat up and looked different again, like the pool and angry and bombs… “We can’t TAKE them to a hospital!” a long pause and then he closed his eyes and looked unhappy, “God damn it…”

John sighed and cursed his medical ethics for the hundredth time, “Can I help?”

Moriarty looked up at him with a blankly annoyed look.

“Doctor, remember?” John said tapping his chest.

Moriarty’s face shifted to a shocked expression before snapping back to all business, “Tiger? I’ve just been reminded we HAVE a doctor. Go to the loud club. I’ll meet you there.”

John was already standing up, “What kind of injury?”

“Knife. Mycroft’s boys; they have a standard method, stab into the critical veins and leave you to bleed out– looks like a mugging that way.” Moriarty was moving fast back to the medical supply closet.

John grabbed what looked like a field medic’s bag and several bags of fluid and then shoved extra trauma gear into another bag and chased after Moriarty. Once they were in a car– dark window tints on a dark night– John managed to get out, “If I’m your doctor, I need to go over your supplies…”

“Didn’t expect to need you this soon,” Moriarty replied.

“That’s how it always works,” John couldn’t help but chuckle.

They were transferred into a van someplace, and John watched Moriarty drumming his fingers against his thigh.  After what seemed like forever they were let out in a trash strewn alley, John spotted drug detritus before he was hustled in to a door and down the stairs.  Insanely loud music pounded from somewhere upstairs vibrating the walls. Shortly after he was let into a concrete store room: there was a badly injured man– _shock, blood loss, internal hemorrhaging_ – lying on a table.  John scarcely noticed the armed guards.

“Shit.” John started barking orders.  They’d done a decent field dressing but this was bad.

As he was up to his wrists in the man, tying off bleeders and hoping he’d make it, he heard Moriarty shriek, “What do you mean you got SHOT!”

 _Triage,_ “Is it still bleeding?”

“Nah, clean in and out.” Sebastian’s voice came calmly back. “I bandaged it.”

“Disinfect it, then, and get prepped so I can look at it when I’m done here.” John finished stitching and closing. “He really needs a hospital.”

“Not in England, he’d be dead by shift change.” Moriarty said flatly, “Far too easy to kill someone in a hospital.”

Well he’s got a fifty-fifty chance in a hospital. I wouldn’t give him odds without round the clock care.”

Sebastian asked, “Can he make it to someplace like Scotland? Big Brother has less reach there.”

“Probably.” John said, washing up in the sink after bagging all the gloves and residue of treatment.

“He wouldn’t have before,” Sebastian said, “Gives him a chance, anyway.”

Moriarty agreed, “Get him moving.”

Some more men came in and John helped get him on a stretcher. He gave the men orders and was pleasantly surprised that at least one of them appeared to have some kind of medical training. After they were gone he turned around and looked Sebastian over.

“You haven’t gotten anything prepped.”

“You were using the space.” Sebastian was watching him warily.

John noted that Moriarty was acting in what was almost a worried fashion: John had seen enough people where “worry” and “angry” looked remarkably similar to recognize it.

“It’s not a clean in and out, is it?” John crossed his arms and gave the man his best military glare.

“It’s not a problem...”

“Are you a doctor? No? Then shut up and let me see it.” John snorted.

“You gonna hit me again?”

“Only if you don’t strip and get over here.”

“Great,” he looked over at Moriarty, “no wonder you two get along.”

Moriarty snapped his fingers at the remaining guards, “Out.”

Once they were out he turned to Sebastian, “Where were you hit?”

“Shoulder.”

Moriarty promptly kicked him in the shin, and screamed at him as Sebastian was cursing and hopping on one leg, “You stupid–”he went off in a language John didn’t know.

“You can yell and kick him later.” John said firmly, “Let me see it.”

Much to John’s relief it turned out to be a small caliber and it was easily pulled out of his back.

“You’ve got good hands.” Sebastian said sounding a bit surprised as John put a couple of stitches in.

“I’ve pulled enough bullets out of people, treated enough military– including idiots who don’t want  to go to medical, but were willing to let me patch them up.” John finished up, “You’ll want to take something mild for pain and swelling and I’d rather have you on some antibiotics, since the room isn’t really what I’d call sterile.”

“I’m impressed you can work with the noise,” Sebastian said.

“Noise?” John blinked at him and suddenly realized he’d been almost shouting to be heard over the bass line. “Oh... I was a bit focused…”

“Now tell me how you got SHOT Sebie.” Moriarty had his arms crossed and was glaring at the man.

“It was a set up,” he admitted. “Apparently they were waiting for someone to come looking for Kelly, and when we did…” He glanced at John and back at Moriarty with a questioning look.

“Go ahead.” Moriarty said with a growl.

“They waited. They waited until I had called in, then they moved in to pick us up.”

Moriarty’s face twisted into something really ugly, “Did you get any of them?”

Sebastian looked offended, “Of course we did! Three dead, one I don’t know– he might have lived but he was up on a roof so we couldn’t check– and I captured one.”

Moriarty suddenly smiled and John reflexively backed up, “Oh good… I have a LOT of questions.”

“Not with me around.” John said firmly. “I will not condone torture. Not ever.”

Moriarty looked like he was going to snarl at him and then forcibly calmed himself down. “Quite right, Johnny Boy, it’s not your field, but let me explain something: Mycroft deliberately went after one of my people– a non-violent man, who never did anything more than create fake artwork– to use him as bait. Sebastian’s wound wasn’t bad enough to be an attempted assassination; Mycroft was trying to capture one of my higher ranking men– probably to try to force me to hand you over.”

Sebastian swore violently, “You think? That would explain why the sniper didn’t hit me…”

John sagged into a chair, “why?”

“First of all, because the Iceman hates to lose.” Moriarty’s eyes were very cold, “I honestly expect that’s most of it. Secondly? I expect Sherlock has been badgering him to ‘do something’ for days.”

“What can I do?” John asked, trying to figure this out.

“Nothing.  This is political, between the Iceman and me. It changes nothing because I won’t let it change anything. Step outside the door and send the guards back in, Johnny– don’t go far.”

John stepped out and quietly told the guards to go in.  The noise was louder out here, and even if he wanted to he’d never hear what was being said in the room. After he’d been out waiting for a while it occurred to him that he probably COULD run, but it really didn’t seem like a good idea: _Sherlock’s safe, I’m safe-ish, maybe I can even help settle things down._

Not long after that Moriarty came out and indicated for John to follow him.  They got into a car– not the van– and were driven away.

“Are… Are you going to be alright?” John asked slowly.

“Wait until we get home, Johnny Boy.”

They changed cars twice. Eventually Moriarty woke him out of a doze to tell him they were back home.  He followed him quietly into the house.

“Strip down; you need to get cleaned up.” Moriarty said and John realized he’d practically sleep-walked into the shower.

“Sorry, between the military and medical training I can sleep standing up.” John admitted, stripping off the clothes and getting into the luxurious shower: he stood under it and turned his face up into the spray.

Moriarty stepped into the shower and rather matter of factly started washing off. “I used to really love showers, and pools.”

“Used to?”

“Waterboarding.”

John didn’t know what to say to that.  He knew how to document, he knew how to treat physical wounds, but… “I don’t know how to treat that.” He admitted, “My therapist was pretty lousy, so I can’t even give you much advice.”

Moriarty muttered something as he got out and dried off.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said I don’t know why you had a flashback at the pool, but I’m sorry I had you dunked.” He paused “You broke one of my men’s arms, by the way.”

“I… don’t remember fighting them, not really.” He followed Moriarty into the bedroom.

Moriarty just got into bed and patted the space next to him.  John didn’t think there was any point in arguing so he got in, wondering what would happen next.

What happened was that Moriarty put his arms around him and sighed. “Thank you for patching the men up, especially Sebastian.”

“I’m a doctor,” John shrugged. “The other man still has a long fight to pull through, but Sebastian really just needs some minor medication and a checkup in a few days.”

“Mmm.” And after just a few more minutes, John was sure that Moriarty was asleep.

John tried to make sense of it all, decided it was far too late, after far too much stress, and closed his eyes; the familiar scent of his Alpha soothing him to sleep.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will make more sense if you have reviewed the pool scene recently, but ...  
> TW Vague descriptions of severe trauma, peculiar senses of humor, PTSD, and references to the pool scene

Sherlock was awakened by Mrs. Hudson standing in his bedroom doorway.  He stared at her for several blinks– _distraught, confused, and not personally injured–_ as he tried to be certain he wasn’t hallucinating or dreaming.

“Mrs. Hudson?”

“Someone left you a murder, except… he gurgled.”

Sherlock threw the covers off and grabbed his pants, “A murder?”

Mrs. Hudson was blinking at him, “Oh dear…” then she looked back toward the door, “Well, he may not be dead yet, but he certainly will be soon if the ambulance doesn’t get here– I called them first, I didn’t want to move him, though.”

Sherlock started to stride down toward the door and found that the ‘murder’ had been left INSIDE the door from the street. He made a gurgling rasp as he breathed.

_Badly beaten, punctured lung, both legs broken in multiple places, both arms as well, face left deliberately intact for identification, probably MI5…_

Sherlock was about to do something when he saw a letter tacked to the wall. He looked at it carefully; it was addressed to “Holmes”.  Sherlock knew that the police would prefer to have him leave everything, but it WAS addressed to him– he pocketed it just before the ambulance arrived.

He went back upstairs as they hauled the man to the hospital and spoke with Mrs. Hudson: he carefully examined the letter. A very cold chill raced down his spine as he realized that this was note paper from his flat, the impressions of his own notes pressed through the paper and still visible beneath the message.

“I suppose you think it was very clever to murder one of the Pawns and try to capture some better pieces, but my Knight defeated yours.

You’re still in Check.

M”

Sherlock stared at that for a moment and called Mycroft.

“It wasn’t John or you would have gone with the ambulance.” Mycroft said as soon as he answered the phone, “Who was it?”

“Moriarty said you murdered a Pawn and tried to take some other pieces of his, but his Knight defeated yours… so I assume he was one of your men.” Sherlock glanced at the paper, “he also said ‘you’re still in check’ and the note was written on MY paper.”

Mycroft hissed. “Damn.  We’d set this up days ago…”

“And now John is in even more danger.” Sherlock snarled, “God only knows what Moriarty will do to him for this!”

*

Moriarty hurried John through breakfast and into a car.

“Is there a reason we’re in a hurry?” John asked in some amusement– Moriarty was acting like a kid on his way to the amusement park or something.

“Oooh yes, Mycroft always has his appointments to the tailors in the afternoon; I doubt he has one today but you never know.”

“Wait… we’re going to Mycroft’s tailors?”

“Certainly not! But it’s the same area, and it gets so AWKWARD when we run into each other.”

John blinked a lot, “Uh… does that… happen much?”

“A few times. It wasn’t that bad back before he knew me on sight, but then it got uncomfortable, and after he had me taken in its just ugly.” Moriarty’s face twisted a bit.

“Wouldn’t he… arrest you? or something?”

“At the TAILORS?” Moriarty looked at him in shock.

“Forgive me, I assume that’s…. just not done?”

Moriarty smirked at him, “It would be too easy, it would be CHEATING, and it would imply that he needs to stoop to that level. Also his tailors might object to his causing a scene and we can’t have that.”

“This is just weird.”

Moriarty had him measured for suits, bought him a few more ‘casual’ outfits– and when John saw the prices on the jumpers he almost fainted– and then took him into a slightly different area of town and proceeded to  take him into shops that John was QUITE certain he shouldn’t be allowed in.

“This watch costs more than the rent on Baker Street!” John hissed at him when the salesman went away to find some other choices.

“Not really, Sherly gets a discount on the rent– it’s probably about the same as what your flat rent is worth…”

“Mister–”

Moriarty turned and arched an eyebrow at him, “Jim, James, darling, honeybear…”

“Honeybear?!”

“Yes, snoogums?” Moriarty answered immediately with a sly grin.

John sagged, “You set me up for that.”

“Better than a knock-knock joke” and then he broke off because the salesman was back with more watches.

Moriarty bought him two watches: a sturdy looking everyday watch that still cost more than a month’s rent, and a dress watch that John was afraid to breathe on.  He then took him into a jewelry store and got him three pair of cufflinks and started looking at wedding rings.

“Look, Moriarty,” John said hesitantly, “I really–”

“Jim, James, darling, or…?”

“I am not calling you honeybear.” John said it as firmly as he could while trying not to raise his voice around the trays full of I-can’t-afford-to-look-at.

“That leaves Jim, James, or darling… unless you have a better idea?” Moriarty smiled politely and continued, “And we could always go three doors down and try to get an Omega collar…”

“You are a complete and utter bastard, you know.”

“True.” Jim smiled happily at him, “and?”

“Jim, DEAR,” John said through gritted teeth, “what are you shopping for?”

Moriarty smirked wickedly but the expression morphed quickly into a love sotted smile when the salesman turned around again. “I know you don’t care about these things, darling, but let me spoil you a bit.” He then asked the salesman if he had anything a bit more masculine… and once the man trundled off to the safe continued, “Honestly Johnny, I’m keeping it down to the basics.”

“I don’t even wear rings… I’m a doctor, they can trap germs.” John said rather hopelessly.

Moriarty looked struck, “Oooh you are so right, I’ll get you a nice chain to put it around your neck for when you need to take it off.”

“I’m not winning this one, am I?”

“Nope.”

Moriarty didn’t like the rings in that shop so they went to three other places before getting coordinating semi-custom designs that would be picked up in two days.

“Please tell me we’re done?”

“For now: it’s well past time for lunch.”

“Yes, yes it is.” John grumbled, “look, M–” John saw the raised eyebrow and amended it quickly, “my dear,” –Moriarty grinned at him–“I don’t need ANY of this stuff, but I need food!”

Moriarty chuckled, “First of all, yes you do.  Whether people think you’re my husband, my aide, or a business associate you need to dress far better than you did with Sherlock.”

“My face is rather well known, you know… people will recognize me.”

“Either they won’t recognize you, they will think I found someone who resembles you, or they will assume you were always one of mine.” He shrugged, “In any event I won’t be seen with someone who isn’t dressed properly unless you’re in disguise– besides which your contract clearly states I am obliged to provide proper attire.”

They ended up in a little tucked away place that had surprisingly good food.  The wait staff seemed to know him but apparently not as Moriarty.

“You are really, really strange,’ John said quietly after Moriarty finished asking the waitress–Celia– about her boyfriend, her college classes, and her sister.

“Why? Because I bother to talk to people and pay attention, unlike Sherlock?”

John fidgeted, “I guess? Just… not the impression I had of you from…” John waved his hand vaguely, “Bomb vests.”

Moriarty just grinned, “what can I say, I am just SO changeable!”

John flinched.  Moriarty tilted his head and looked a bit puzzled. “Johnny?”

John was carefully breathing in, two, three, four… out, two, three, four…

~

Jim felt like someone had thrown ice cold water on him.  Johnny Boy was actually having a panic attack… just from…

He quietly called the car and scribbled an apology note to Celia: leaving more than enough money on the table he steered Johnny out and into the car. He had time to wonder why it was that John let himself be steered, but he was clearly pretty out of it.

Not knowing what else to do he pulled open Johnny’s collar– John started to get more panicked for a moment– and pulled him in close, licking the bond bite:  John melted into him.

“Shhh… Shhhh… It’s alright, you’re safe…” Jim kept repeating that quietly and occasionally licking John’s neck as the driver took them to one of his properties in town. By the time Jim carried him inside Johnny was asleep.  He put him on the bed and took off his shoes before slipping out to his office and making a few phone calls. When he came back in John was standing near the window doing his best to look calm and unaffected.

“John? Are you back?”

“Wasn’t exactly gone…” he said sounding fairly calm, “where are we?”

“One of my homes, this one is in town– it was the closest.”

John sat back down on the bed, “Consulting criminal must pay pretty well.”

“Well… yes it does, but honestly what makes the most money is insider trading.” John looked startled at that, but it also seemed to have gotten his attention off the upset a bit. “Can I come in?”

“Uh… why ask me?”

“Believe it or not Johnny, I don’t want to hurt you, and you were upset.”

“Bomb vests, people trying to kill my friends, you know… silly irrational fears like that.” John tried to say it lightly.

Jim came in and sat on the bed next to him. “I have a similar reaction to Mycroft on a bad day, which you may have noticed with the riding crop…”

John actually chuckled which Jim took as a good sign.

“You… uh….would it help to talk about it?... God I don’t believe I’m, saying that.” Jim muttered.

“Why did you come back after you left that first time?  I had just started feeling safe and then…” John’s voice was sort of lost sounding. 

Jim leaned his head into John’s, keeping his hands in his lap. “I’ll tell you, but you must never tell anyone– except Sebastian, but he already knows.”

“What?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

John turned and stared at him, “it’s EMBARRASING?!”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I have to hear this…”

Jim sighed and put an arm around John’s shoulders, “I hadn’t expected you to behave the way you did, and frankly if Sebastian hadn’t thought fast… well… I was rattled.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry about that, given what you’d done.”

Jim just waved dismissively. “So I go to walk out and I’m mostly focused on looking all cool and in charge, right?”

“Yeah, you and Sherlock and your audience issue.”

Jim sniffed, “What good is being awesome if no one notices?”

John actually smiled a little, “Go on, so what’s embarrassing.”

“I was so focused on everything else that instead of going out the exit I walked into the changing room.”

Jim winced and waited….

John pulled away and stared at him, “I’m SOOOOO Changeable?!”

“Errr….” Jim fidgeted, “like I said, embarrassing.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> snickers bar commercials, and chess games

Apparently as some attempt to take his mind off of anything else, Moriarty– Jim– had him make up a medical supplies list, and start working on a medical protocol. Sebastian showed up in time for dinner with takeout food and  the  two of them started talking shop– at least John assumed it was, since he had no idea what they were talking  about: all the words made sense, but not together. John watched with increasing suspicion as Sebastian was eating, and Jim was moving things around on his plate with a fork…

John reached out and took the computer pad out of Jim’s hand.

“What?” Jim looked absolutely shocked– Sebastian looked like someone had just stepped on a landmine and it hadn’t blown yet.

John very deliberately put the pad down face down and crossed his arms over it. “You get this back after you eat at LEAST half of what’s on your plate.”

“You really ARE suicidal!” Sebastian sputtered at him.

“I’m not reading your computer, I’m not even looking at it, but if you don’t eat, you don’t get it back.”

“Johnny Boy, have you completely lost your mind?” Jim was staring at him with wide eyes, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing.

“What makes you think I was sane when you got me?” John blinked at him.

Moriarty tilted his head sideways and started to snicker, “Point.”

“Eat. Your. Food.”

Moriarty smirked, “Ask me nicely.”

John rolled his eyes, “Jim, DEAR, eat your damn food.”

He started laughing outright, “Wednesday! Play with your food!”

“Oh you WOULD be a fan of the Addams family.” John sighed, “So you’re Wednesday, I’m Pugsly, and what… he’s Lurch?”

Jim looked utterly delighted and put a forkful of food into his mouth– Sebastian stared in wide eyed shock between the two of them.

After Moriarty ate exactly half the plate full of food he held out his hand, and John handed his pad back. As John was turning away Moriarty suddenly snapped his hand out and caught John by the wrist.

“You know, you still haven’t paid for the message service to Sherlock.”

John raised an eyebrow, “Medical services don’t count?”

“Darling, that’s why you got all those extra presents!”

John snorted, “Presents I don’t want? You and I both know that was for you.”

“You really have no sense of self-preservation at all, do you?”

“Oh I have some, but I’m USED to moody geniuses that don’t eat and then they get crankier than normal and then everyone’s life is made utterly miserable– which could be avoided if they just ate something.”

“You sound like a candy bar commercial.”

John raised an eyebrow, “You and Sherlock ACT like a candy bar commercial. Now are you going to let go of my wrist?”

“What if I said no?” Moriarty was grinning. Sebastian had retreated to the kitchen proper and was leaning on the fridge with a bottle of beer, watching incredulously.

“Then I figure you must still be having low blood sugar and I start feeding you the rest of that food.”

A manic gleam flashed in Moriarty’s eyes, “You… wouldn’t… dare…” he smirked.

John took his off hand and speared a forkful of food and put it to Jim’s mouth; much to his surprise he ate it and then licked his lips, looking wickedly at John.

“Oh GOD… I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” John sighed.

“You don’t have to call me God; Jim-dear works just fine.” He purred, “and I adore people feeding me almost as much as I like hand feeding people little bits of desert… and getting them all sticky…”

*

The agent who had been delivered to Sherlock’s flat made it through surgery and into the ICU.  Sherlock arrived at Mycroft’s office with the note, which was examined and found to offer nothing useful at all.

“Mycroft, I asked you to do something HELPFUL, not get John killed!”

“We were trying to acquire one of his higher ranked lieutenants…”

“Yes, that is what the note said– his knight defeated yours.” Sherlock glared at him, “If you were going to try for such a thing you apparently under-prepared.”

“We should be able to–”

“NO!” Sherlock shivered and took out the sedative he hadn’t had to use since rehab– until John was taken.

“Sherlock…”Mycroft looked alarmed, “Why are you using that?”

“I lost my temper.” Sherlock admitted quietly.  From Sherlock that could mean anything from broken crockery to an international incident.

“You have said those drugs dull your wits…” Mycroft was looking wide eyed at him– Sherlock would use heroin before he used that, even if this was in fact the better option.

“They do; I don’t know how you manage them.”

“I take them more often and at a much lower dose.” Mycroft got up and got them both tea.

Sherlock was looking at him dully over his tea when Mycroft next spoke, “John… is probably alright.  We haven’t heard anything.”

“Oh, I expect we will, Mycroft; the question is what.”

It was nearly an hour later that the first reports started coming in.  Over the rest of the  morning and early afternoon nine of Mycroft’s best men and women met with “accidents”– only a few of them would survive.

Just before the end of the day a package arrived for Mycroft Holmes.  It was scanned, verified to be harmless, and opened by waldos in a sealed room anyway: it contained two chess pieces– white– a King and a Queen: the Queen wrapped in white ribbon and tied in a bow.

Once everything was checked yet again, Mycroft and Sherlock were able to pick up the pieces.

“What on earth?” Mycroft murmured, “What is he playing at?”

“You’re getting slow in your old age, Mycroft, it’s rather obvious.” Sherlock picked up the Queen, wrapped in ribbon. “How many men were in that ambush that failed so spectacularly?”

“Five: the other four were dead on the scene.”

“He referred to one as our Knight– or yours at least– and said his Knight defeated him. Chess pieces.”

Mycroft winced, “Five in the ambush; Nine more of my people were taken out of play today, leaving  these two.”

Sherlock was turning the queen over in his hands, “It’s wrong, though.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re the King– the most valuable piece on the board, but you don’t go OUT: taking you out of play ends the game instantly.”

“Then I suppose the bound Queen is Watson?” Mycroft frowned, “you’re right, it doesn’t make sense.”

“You never understood Moriarty as well as I did, brother… perhaps that’s why you don’t see it…” Sherlock looked distant and worried.

“True, you understood him better than anyone: explain it.”

“I’m the Queen: the one who goes out, but whose capture or death is devastating to the game.”

“Then why the bindings?”

“A white flag isn’t always surrender: sometimes it’s a truce.  The Queen has been placed under truce.”

Mycroft hissed, “You’re protected, I’m not? Of course… but that fills all sixteen spaces on the board– even if Watson was a pawn he would–” Mycroft cut off and frowned, “Watson is the wager?” Mycroft raced over his knowledge of Moriarty’s games and puzzles– that still wasn’t correct.

Sherlock was standing there staring off at nothing, holding his chess piece. “No. That’s why we haven’t had any threats, or ways to ‘win him back’: John isn’t included in our pieces– Moriarty is including him in HIS.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> food play, family angst, and phone calls  
> TW past abuse

Jim was in the middle of prepping a brand new and very interesting personal project when he got a text; given who it was from, he stopped to go read it–and smirked, “Good.”

“Good?” John asked. “I don’t think it’s very ‘good’ that you go off to read a bloody TEXT in the middle of this!” Then he grumbled, “Too damn much alike, sometimes.”

“Ah? You think Sherly would?” Jim grinned at him.

“I’m certain of it,” John said, trying to relax, which was made somewhat more difficult by the rather arcane rope bindings he was suspended in. “Assuming he didn’t just wander off and forget me until no one got his coat or his tea for him at the Yard–I’d probably have to be rescued by Mrs. Hudson…” John shuddered.

Jim trailed his fingers across John, all constrained and accessible… “Well, you have to admit, Johnny Boy, I never forget you–even if this time I am leaving you hanging…” He snickered and John groaned.

“Besides, the text was from Mycroft: they’ve resigned the field for this game… although they still want you back.”

“And I suppose you’re going to tell them I’m a bit tied up at the moment?” John sighed–judging from the wicked gleam in Jim’s eyes, that sounded about right.

Jim resumed setting up a sideboard of various brushes, squeeze bottles, bowls, and God knows what while John hung rather helplessly in the ropes. It was comfortable enough for right now, he supposed, but rather deliberately left him unable to cover any part of himself, and Jim’s intent look was worrisome–so was the plastic sheeting under him: that was very worrisome.

When Jim set up what looked like a ketchup bottle John finally asked, “Jim, DEAR… Planning on serving me with a roll and a bed of lettuce?”

“What’s that, Darling?” Jim followed his gaze to the squeeze bottle. “Oh, I suppose it does look like ketchup… No, it’s raspberry sauce.”

John blinked a lot. “What?”

“Strawberry is just so over DONE, don’t you think? I have honey, chocolate, raspberry, whipped cream, and a few other odds and ends…” He held up a jar happily. “Sprinkles!”

John sagged, “Oh, thank God.”

Jim stared at him and back at the sprinkles. “Errr… That’s a rather dramatic response to little bits of colored sugar…”

“Given the ropes and the plastic sheets, I rather expected something a lot bloodier.” John was trying to get his head wrapped around the fact that it was JUST possible that the worst thing to happen would be a mess–not anything requiring stitches.

Jim stared at him and finally pulled up a chair at head level and sat down staring at him. “You thought… that I was putting down plastic and tying you up… because you were going to be bleeding?”

“Yes, it did seem likely, especially since this was payment for that message… and plastic tarps do tend to be associated with blood spatter or being shot.”

Jim rubbed his forehead, “This STAINS, Darling… I just don’t want it on my RUGS…” He sat back in his chair and pulled out a knife and started peeling into one of the ever-present apples. “Seriously? When have I given you the impression that I was going to HURT you?”

John looked pointedly at the apple and the knife. “Given what I’ve seen? The idea that I might get branded or cut did cross my mind. I admit, I hadn’t expected it anymore at this point, but the plastic sheeting rather brought it back up.”

Jim sputtered, “And you STOOD there and let me tie you up and put you in suspension without a word of protest?!”

“Errr... yes?”

Jim stared at him incredulously. “Seriously, Johnny Boy, you need counseling.”

“Can I remind you I expected worse when I turned myself over?”

“Well, yes, but what was your home life like that you think your husband would do that?” Jim demanded. John flinched. “THAT bad?”

“It was bad and I prefer not to talk about it.” John looked at him, realized he wouldn’t back down, and sighed. “Officially, it was an accidental death, but in actual fact my mother went down the stairs because my father hit her–again–only this time, she broke her neck. I was ten. It got worse from there.” John lay back in the ropes. “I assure you, whatever mood you were hoping for isn’t being helped by discussing family.”

Jim sat back with a stunned look. “I… I had no idea. I rather thought you were all, you know, middle-class propriety.”

“More like family used to be middle class and fell off the bottom, and I joined the Army to go to Medical school and get away from them all.” John stared at the ceiling. “I’m only in contact with Harry, and that not very much since she started drinking again.”

Jim stroked a hand along his arms over the ropes. “I didn’t know–never really bothered to look you up past the military. I assumed you got all your bad ideas about me from the Holmes boys.”

“You gave me plenty of bad ideas about you with what you were doing; they hardly needed to tell me anything.”

“I would never intentionally do anything to HURT you, Johnny… not… not once I Bonded you. I won’t say I might not mean well and hurt you anyway, or do something accidentally, but… If I was planning on playing with sharp things, I would HOPE I would think to check that that was…. not going to set off a PTSD attack or something.” Jim was petting along various exposed parts of his body while he was talking. He did sound upset.

“I’m sorry,” John sighed. “Look: you spent MONTHS terrorizing us, and other people–can you understand it will take me a bit to get over it?”

Jim leaned over and kissed him; John felt immensely reassured, even if it was just pheromones and hormones. Jim petted and stroked him in the ropes–and kissed him a few more times–until John relaxed a lot more.

“Would you feel better if I let you call Sherlock?”

“What?”

“Phone? Voice? You know….”

“Yeeessss…? What’s the catch?”

“You don’t so much as HINT about where you are; you don’t tell them we’ve Bonded yet–yet–they’ll find out eventually; and you don’t say anything that identifies any of my people or places we’ve been.” Jim looked thoughtful, “You can mention the tailors: it will drive Mycroft crazy.” He nodded. “If I think you stepped over the line I cut the call, and if I think you deliberately stepped over the line you make it up to me big time–riding crop and vibrator big time.”

John immediately swore he would do no such thing and silently resolved to stick to the weather and health.

Jim brightened up, “And given that you PRIDE yourself on being so stoic, I’ll try to distract you.”

“What?”

“You can talk as LOOOONG as you like, darling, but I’ll be doing my best to distract you, and it will get worse as it goes.” He smiled happily. “There, that’s fair isn’t it?”

“For… some value of fair… I guess….” _This was going to be bad, I just know it._

~

Sherlock was back at home, trying to find anything to occupy his attention other than worrying about John, when his phone rang. He almost ignored it, but how often did his phone ring, really? He looked at the number– _Moriarty’s text number? By voice?!_ –and answered immediately.

“Yes?”

“How’s life over on the boring side of things, Sherlock?” Jim’s voice was very amused.

“It’s been a lot of things, but boring is not one of them.” Sherlock tried to keep his voice steady. “Why now?”

“Oh, Johnny Boy wanted to talk to you, so I said he could–within limits.” Jim said cheerfully. Sherlock waited for the catch. “Of course, if he goes OVER my limits, well… it would be bad, so you aren’t going to try to fish for any information you shouldn’t, right?”

 _Ah, of course_. Sherlock did his best to focus to his utmost on any details he could get. “Understood.”

“Good! Glad we understand each other. Hold on…”

There was a series of clicks and then for a moment some rather heavy interference and breathing–Jim’s voice saying, “Hang on, let me adjust the headset…”

“Sherlock?” John’s voice– _breathing a bit hard, eager to talk, suppressed excitement, nothing obvious…_

“John, are you alright for the moment?”

“I’m fine. Are you eating? You don’t eat when I’m not there…” _John sounded… perfectly normal, actually._

“John? You sound… well…”

“I’m FINE, Sherlock I just–” John cut off with a startled yelp. Sherlock was momentarily alarmed– _but it sounded more surprised than hurt?_ Then John growled, “That’s dirty pool, and you know it!”

“What?” Sherlock asked into the phone.

“Moriar–” This time John cut off without even a yelp and picked up very cautiously after a beat, breathing a bit irregularly, “Jim… Jim is trying to distract me while I talk to you… It’s part of what I agreed to, to get phone privileges.”

“Are you safe? Where you are… I assume you can’t tell me where…”

“Not allowed to mention a lot, but, yes I’m safe.” He heard him grumble “for some value of safe,” and then continue, “Jim said you were worried. I’m alright; please just take care of yourself, alright?”

“Can you tell me anything?” Sherlock was listening and John’s breathing was getting rougher, and a bit heavier, but nothing about his voice sounded anything worse than aggravated.

“Jim… said I could tell you we went clothes–” John made a very faint noise in the back of his throat, “shopping…”

“What? Clothes shopping?” _What kind of code was that?_

“Said it would… aggravate Mycroft… apparently Jim… runs into him at the tailors… a lot?” _John was clearly breathing more heavily and his voice was getting a bit rougher, and constrained…_

Sherlock heard Jim’s voice, quite cheerfully–and obviously not far from the phone pick up–“Not a lot, no, but it really did get awkward after he had me interrogated.”

Sherlock was trying to contain the worry. “What are you doing right now, John?”

“Nothing I want to answer…” John said through almost gritted teeth. “You are a Grade-A bastard–not you Sherlock, although you are, too.”

“What?” Sherlock was utterly confused and apparently Jim was laughing.

“Sherlock, ask your brother what interrogation means–” There was a click and silence.

After a long pause Jim was back on the line. “THAT was pushing it, Johnny Boy.”

Sherlock heard John, sounding rather odd, saying, “I don’t think he knows…”

“I think he does,” Jim said flatly. “Anyway Sherlock,” he said back in his usual manic cheerful voice, “that’s your phone call for today. Maybe Johnny Boy will be able to earn another phone call sometime. Toodles!” and the line went dead.

~

“Now where were we? Oh, yes… Sprinkles…”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truces, Tailors and medical Treatment

Sherlock was on the phone to Mycroft as soon as he could dial.

“John was allowed to talk to me,” Sherlock said without so much as a “hello” first.

“I assume monitored; what did you find out?”

“He actually sounds in very good shape, although Moriarty was engaging in some kind of game that I think must have been more unpleasant than he was trying to let on. He… said a few things that didn’t make sense, but referenced you, and since Moriarty cheerfully chimed in with them, I assume it’s some code to which I am not privy. He also tried to communicate something to me, but was cut off at the end.”

“What code?”

“John said ‘we went clothes shopping’ and that it would aggravate you, and then Moriarty said something about running into you at the tailors being awkward since you had him interrogated. I don’t know the meaning–” Sherlock cut off because his brother was cursing vehemently in a dozen languages.

“Well?” Sherlock said impatiently when Mycroft finally trailed off.

“It means he took John to Savile Row or Conduit Street; I DO run into him there–have done since before I knew who he was,” Mycroft said with enough tension in his jaw to carry across the line.

Sherlock stared at the phone. “Why… don’t you arrest him?”

“I cannot actually arrest him, as he officially hasn’t done anything–which you are well aware of. Unofficially, I could have him picked up IF I knew when he was showing up so I could have him intercepted on route.”

“Why not just have him taken at the tailors, Mycroft?!” Sherlock heard the phone groan faintly in his grip and got out his sedatives.

Mycroft was very quiet for a good minute, and then finally muttered something about a truce.

“What?”

“The bespoke tailors in London have a… treaty arrangement. You are aware, I trust, that many of the old established firms have had difficult times financially? Well, they all have an agreement: if ANY of their good clients are harassed or bothered in ANY of their shops, everyone involved in it gets cut off.”

“Do you mean to tell me that if James Moriarty was arrested at the tailors–”

“Myself, Lord and Lady Smallwood, and very likely several other people would all suddenly find ourselves unable to go to ANY of the tailors. The plus side is that if you or I were bothered there, the same thing would occur in reverse–it’s why you are perfectly safe getting your shirts.”

Sherlock tried very hard to stay calm. “Could you perhaps have INFORMED me of this before, oh, I ran into him there?”

“Given your situation over the last few weeks, it seemed… inadvisable to discuss it. I had my people sweep the area head of you, and besides you hadn’t gone in–”

Sherlock was about to unleash a blistering tirade when Mycroft said, “I’ll search the cameras for a record of their visit.”

The prospect of seeing video of John’s condition did rather stall him, but Mycroft then made a rather drastic error in asking, “What was it he tried to say but was cut off?”

“He said to ask you what interrogation means,” Sherlock said, his voice flat.

Mycroft went silent.

“Moriarty cut him off and said that was pushing the limits; John said ‘I don’t think he knows…’ and Moriarty answered with ‘I think he does’; so, since I am presumed to know… I believe I need to know.”

“Interrogation is, by definition, unpleasant. We got absolutely nothing of value from him, so it’s irrelevant.”

“If it was irrelevant,” Sherlock hissed, “John wouldn’t have been pushing it to get that to me, and there would be no question of its importance or whether I knew. Whether that is what is happening to John, or it is a threat, or it is some other form of clue, I will be expecting DETAILED accounts of what it means both in general and in Moriarty’s case.”

Mycroft, unfortunately, couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll get the interrogation records,” he sighed. “In the meantime I will have people go through the surveillance.”

*

The next day John was delighted by a delivery of medical supplies, and was happily sorting and organizing them when Jim walked up.

“Darling?” said Jim, checking his phone thoughtfully.

John sighed, “Yes, Jim?”

Jim looked up and beamed at him, “Do you think you could do a bit more clinic-level doctoring?”

“What do you mean?”

“A couple of my people were asking if they could see the ‘new doctor’ since they can’t go to a regular clinic.”

“Oh! Of course. I can at least give them a look over…” John was pleasantly surprised, but Jim HAD said he would let him keep practicing.

“Alright… then let me give you some briefings.” Jim escorted him to an office and sat him down with a serious look. “First of all, most of my people have never seen me, or, if they have, they think I’m another high level aide, like Sebastian.”

“Oh?”

“Jim from IT? I do that all the time.”

“Then… why show yourself to Sherlock?”

Jim sat back, “Because I was bored? Maybe even a bit lonely? It’s not often I find someone who can keep up…”

John looked thoughtful, “Sherlock was acting like those crimes were love letters, you know.”

“They WERE!”

“Uh…”

Jim reached out and started petting his hand, “I adore you, and wouldn’t trade you for the world, but… I didn’t know you then. Anyway, I thought Sherlock and I had something special until he threw me to Mycroft.”

John was trying to reconcile everything–it was raving insanity to think of bomb vests and murders as if they were flowers–but Sherlock WAS a man who kept eyeballs in the microwave. _Wait… I adore you? Uh…_

“Anyway,” Jim continued, “if they don’t know for SURE you have seen me, always say you haven’t or imply that you have seen people who claim to be me–possibly multiple different people.”

“Okay…”

“Now, if you’re ever captured or run into a problem, you have two options: first, you can obviously pull the kidnapped doctor routine, working under duress–you don’t know anything much, and I’ve kept you blindfolded and not told you anything–”

“Is it likely I’d be in that kind of trouble?”

“Certainly not, but it’s better to be prepared.”

John considered that. “I suppose it is. Anything else?”

“If you think it’s advantageous, or they already know, play the Dumb Omega Card.”

“I beg your pardon?” John sat up and glared.

“Darling… I believe you: you aren’t a pet–but it can be very, very useful if someone else forgets that you are such a devastatingly dangerous creature.” Jim smiled at him and looked like he was thinking of pouring chocolate sauce on him in the next few minutes.

“Dear? Jim? Someone needed medical?”

“Oh… right.” Jim looked disappointed and glanced down at his phone. “I’ll work on getting you people’s phone numbers and things, but that will be all for now–oh, I got you a holster and gun and did you want a knife?”

John stared at him. “What did you say?”

“I got you a gun, temporarily, until I can take you to a proper armory and get you kitted out,” Jim said looking baffled at him.

“I get a gun?”

Jim smirked, “Like I would let my Omega go anywhere without the means to defend themselves? You have a gun unless you are going somewhere where that would be too risky.”

“Aren’t you… concerned?”

Jim got up and pulled him into an utterly scorching kiss. “I’m dreadfully concerned, darling, but not about you shooting me–we have a bargain, after all, don’t we?”

John just nodded and finally managed to croak out something about getting going. It took him several minutes in the car to get rid of the hard on from that kiss, but luckily after he got where he was going he was too busy to think. That was the first stop. It turned out there were a LOT of people who, for one reason or another, couldn’t be seen by regular medical.

He went to two impromptu clinics, and three individual stops. They changed cars a lot, and, honestly, after a short while, John couldn’t have told you where they went anyway. He stitched wounds, prescribed drugs–God only knows where they would get the medicine from, but he was told they could do it–administered shots, and, in at least one case, counseled a fellow about his abusive relationship.

When he got home he felt like hell, but happy to be doing something useful. Jim told him to get a quick shower and he’d saved a plate of dinner for him. Jim talked to him over dinner about how things went–in general, he seemed to understand that he wouldn’t get details–and then took him to bed and just slept. John fell asleep, tired, happy, and wrapped in his Alpha’s arms.

The next day he got his own phone.

“Now, John,” Jim looked at him very seriously, “this phone has a few security features that most phones don’t have, but don’t push it. You MAY NOT call Sherlock on this phone unless your life is at stake, because it’s far too traceable–understood?”

 _Damn, there went that–and he would check._ “Understood. What’s it for?”

“Texting numbers you have memorized–the phone has no memory–and calling for taxicabs.”

“Cabs?”

“Most of the cabbies work for me, Johnny; if you ever have a problem, just get in a cab and tell them one of the code phrases I’ll teach you.”

“The… cabs… work for… you?”

“A lot of them. Why?”

“You twisted, brilliant bastard–THAT’S how you knew where we were all the time?”

Jim giggled, “Flattery will get you everywhere, Johnny Boy.”

“That really is brilliant.”

Jim smiled in a terribly pleased fashion. “And I got you a few things for later… However, first question: do you like being the staff doctor?”

“Well… I like it a lot better than sitting around,” John answered cautiously.

Jim nodded. “Then in addition to treating a few current bumps and scrapes, I want you to go with some of my boys and help set up some of the caches of medical supplies and figure out with Sebastian and a few of the others what needs to be on which side of London. The goal is to have the ability to handle a medical emergency like we had quickly, since this is the one city where I really can’t put most of my people into the hospital.”

John started thinking about the problem. “You don’t just need caches, you need medical stations–places like that loud club–and you need them distributed so people can get to them, right?”

“Exactly!”

John brightened up. “THAT I can do! That’s military medical logistics.”

Jim grinned, “Then let me introduce you to a few of your drivers and bodyguards, Johnny. You’re now in charge of medical and medical logistics.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim runs the taxicab network courtesy of http://archiveofourown.org/works/8509840 by BecauseHeWasReading


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Military men, getting used to things, Mycroft, and REALLY poor communication skills- what could go wrong?

John got to check up on Sebastian’s injuries the next day while they were going over distribution points: no sign of infection and healing nicely.

“I have to admit I’m impressed, Doc. Shame you got invalided out,” Sebastian said as he pulled on his shirt.

“Yeah, well… It was getting harder and harder to pass, unfortunately. Thank God for a nurse in the military hospital with an Omega relative–they helped me keep up the suppressants after I was shot.”

Sebastian nodded. “Makes me wonder how many there are–Omega’s passing as Beta. I never would have suspected you.”

“It’s funny isn’t it?” John nodded, “Alright, everything is healing just fine, but I’ll want to keep an eye on it… Anyway, I’m not that short for a Male Beta, although I have a lot of the typical traits, but… people are so conditioned to see us only working in caretaker roles or assistant roles they don’t LOOK. It’s why the Richard Brook alias looks like an Omega.”

Sebastian just shook his head with a grin. “Now I’m going to be looking at every short guy funny…”

“Don’t. If they’re anything like me? Anyone knowing is a threat.”

“…Right.” Sebastian changed the topic back to medical and later that day ended up driving him to some of the locations. John had to admit that once they moved past the Omega issues, it was nice to have a fellow military vet to talk to–and, being an Alpha, Sebastian could warn him when he needed to reapply the scent blockers: he wasn’t used to them, or being off suppressants.

He ended up taking care of a few minor medical issues for some people–he wasn’t sure if some of them even knew they worked for Moriarty; he asked Sebastian on the way home.

“A lot of folks don’t know,” Sebastian agreed. “They work for a friend, or a gang, or their Boss… and somewhere a few steps up, there’s a connection; but no, most of them don’t have any direct connection–it’s how we work for safety.”

_Like some poor bastard who forges paintings being knifed to death just to get a shot at kidnapping Sebastian…_

That night Jim went down on him again and yes, it was every bit as wonderful as the first time.

“GOD!” John lay staring up at the ceiling.

“Really, Jim Dear is sufficient…”Jim chuckled “…although it is flattering; maybe save that pet name for bed?”

“I… didn’t think Alphas…”

“I like to be unexpected,” Jim shrugged. “Besides, I play all sorts of roles…”–then he smirked–“…including gay Beta Male IT workers.”

“Yeah, I thought you were an Omega…”

“You did?” Jim didn’t look upset.

“Except IT would be kind of a… an unusual job description.”

He grinned at John, “More or less than military doctor?”

“Touché.” John shook his head. After a pause he steeled his nerves and admitted, “I… um… I’ve only ever given a blow job twice–three times maybe­, but I was plastered that time…”

“You did?”

“Med school… I was curious and blow jobs were safer than letting anyone… Even a Beta might notice if…” John trailed off and watched him warily.

“I’m not angry, darling, just curious.” Jim was, in fact, mostly looking curious.

“Would… admittedly, I’m not in your league...”

“Why, John… Are you offering me a blow job?”

“Errr… seemed polite to return the favor…”

“I’d be delighted.”

Jim very gently suggested some improvements to John’s technique, but seemed happy.

John still missed Baker Street, and Sherlock, but he had to admit that this wasn’t exactly bad…

…

It was several days later that Jim reminded him that they had to go for a final fitting on his new suits. “And pick up our rings of course.”

John set up breakfast and wondered when this had all become… normal. When he’d stopped being afraid of Jim–for that matter, when he stopped thinking of him as “Moriarty”. He sat watching Jim eat, trying to puzzle it all out.

“Something bothering you, Darling?”

“Trying to figure you out.”

Jim laughed, “Oh give up, there’s a lost cause.”

“Probably,” John admitted ruefully.

“Anything in specific?”

“I’ve almost stopped expecting you to suddenly strap me into a bomb vest, or send me back to Sherlock in pieces…”

Jim sighed, “Well, yes… Several of my closer advisors–by which I mean Sebastian, mostly–have commented that I seem to have mellowed: you’re a bad influence, I’m afraid.”

“Me?” John stared at him.

“Johnny Boy, my opinion about Omegas has HAD to change, just given you being who and what you are...”

John nodded slowly.

“…and I’m afraid that I discounted a great deal of information about how much Alpha hormones settle after Bonding as well…”

“I never noticed…”–that came out wrong; John tried to figure out how to explain–“Uh… I mean… you didn’t act like a typical Alpha except at the pool.”

Jim laughed, “Oh, Honey… I’ve never been a typical anything.”

“That’s for sure…”

The ride to Savile Row was a bit subdued. Jim at least returned to his usual self once they got there: pulling John through stores, shopping their way to the tailors. Eventually, John was standing in a fitting area with what looked to him like a finished jacket on, while the tailor–master tailor, apparently–made notes about the final adjustments. Jim mostly circled him appreciatively: John felt indecently exposed, even in the full suit.

They were discussing fabric with Jim for future suits–John threw himself desperately on Jim’s expertise once they confronted him with fabric swatches–when one of the salesmen came in and spoke quietly to Jim: he looked unsurprised.

“Stay here, Johnny.”

John’s metaphorical ears pricked up–Jim’s use of Johnny had become a bit of a cue that something was upsetting the order of things. As soon as he could, he moved over to the chair near the door into the shop.

~

Jim quietly tapped the alert signal, moving more of his guards and snipers into active position and sauntered out: as he expected, Mycroft was standing uncomfortably in the front of the shop.

“Contemplating a change of tailors, Mikey?” Jim walked up into his personal space.

“You brought Doctor Watson here again.”

“Of course.” Jim cocked his head and put on his best innocent look. “You of all people know how many fittings it takes: I’m rushing things a bit as it is.”

“Why?” Mycroft’s lips pressed together in a thin line–thinner than usual–“Why bother?”

“All of my people are impeccably dressed, Mycroft, you know that.”

“You could return him.”

“I could.” Jim laughed. “But I have to admit, Sherlock had good taste in live-in ones. I’ve gotten rather fond of him.”

“This is a lot of trouble for someone who will just be left in scattered pieces when you get tired of him.”

Jim sighed, “Tedious. Truly, Mycroft, you are very tedious. Ask me a question, say something worth listening to, or get out.”

“What are you planning?”

“None of your concern, unless you make it so.”

“Doctor Watson is my brother’s concern, and thus mine–”

“If your brother has any concerns, he can talk to me himself: I understand his reputation has recovered.” Jim shrugged. “As to you? The last time I spent any time in your company you couldn’t even provide decent tea, so we have nothing to discuss.” Jim turned away. “Your brother, at least, serves tea.”

Mycroft’s hand tightened on his umbrella but he spun on his heel and walked out.

Jim went back into the fitting room. He couldn’t be surprised that John had chosen the chair nearest the door to sit in, but he was vaguely impressed that he had actually stayed in the room and hadn’t been actively at the door.

“Tedious,” Jim sighed.

“So you said,” John agreed quietly, not trying to hide his eavesdropping.

“Come along then!”

John got up quietly and followed. Jim should have just felt gleefully happy that he was following but he didn’t, exactly. He had a sort of unquiet feeling of… worry? He kept walking and tried to analyze it. It was a very strange sensation; he finally identified it as one he only felt around John: guilt.

“Something is bothering you, John?”

“You let him know we were here.”

 _Oh, he figured that out?_ “You always were bright. Yes.”

“Could you have warned me?”

“I wanted to see what you’d do.”

“Why?”

Jim turned and looked at him. John was looking off somewhere past his shoulder.

“Is that a trick question?” Jim asked him. “I wanted to know what you’d do; for that matter, I wanted to see if I was right about what Mycroft would do.”

“I have no idea what he’ll do,” John said quietly.

“Uh… hello?! He did it!”

“Did what?” Jim was getting frustrated and then John actually looked at him for the first time since Mycroft showed up. He looked… tired.

“Are you feeling alright Johnny?”

“No. Why would I be?” He sounded honestly puzzled.

“Johnny, you’re confusing me. I hate being confused. So tell daddy what’s–” John flinched at “Daddy”.

“If you could avoid that specific word in relation to… anything… ever… that would be great. So, since you got what you wanted, can we go back now?”

“We have a lot more shopping to do and we still have the rings to pick up…”

“Oh… You need Mycroft to see that too?” John sagged faintly.

“No…” Jim had no idea what was wrong, but something obviously was. “John…I know I like to cultivate the impression, but I honestly don’t read minds.”

“What did you want me to do?”

Jim tried to figure this one out–ordinary people’s minds went off in the oddest directions, and John was a confusing mix of ordinary and… not–and decided to go over it piece by piece in the car. He got them both in and closed the line to the driver. “Okay, you’re upset, and I have no idea why…” John raised an eyebrow at him, which was at least a response. “You…” Jim bit his lip and leaned back in the seat. “Nope… not a clue. Sorry, Darling, but I have no idea what’s wrong.”

John looked frustrated and then took a deep breath and flexed his fist– _Trying to calm down, if I read that right_ –“You said you wanted to see what I would do; what did you expect me to do?”

“I had no idea what you would do, that’s the point!” Jim tried not to shout. “You alternately intrigue, confuse, and frustrate me, and I rarely if ever have any idea what you will do!”

“…So why tell Mycroft we would be there?”

“To let him see that you were alright–I wasn’t sure if he would just use the cameras or come in person; to give him a neutral venue to try to make a deal–he took the venue, but he’s still being stubborn; and to give him a location to try something where his people were unlikely to start shooting or anything silly.”

John sat back slowly. “You weren’t trying to humiliate me?”

Jim’s mouth dropped open and he tried to say something, but nothing came out. He finally managed, “What?”

“You weren’t making a point of… of my being your Omega to Mycroft?” John sounded cautious.

“Noooo…. Why would I do that? I don’t think I want him to even know that yet.”

“How would I know?!” John’s voice suddenly got a lot louder in the closed car; he pulled it back with effort. “You didn’t warn me! I have no idea what games you play with Mycroft!”

“Wait… You thought I set this up to… embarrass you?”

“Rub his nose in the fact that he hadn’t noticed what I was, and that we’re bonded… yeah.”

Jim sat back on the seat and stared at him. “You… are one of the most insanely confusing people I’ve ever met, and I include myself.”

After a pause, John said, “I think you have me beat.”

“Darling, I might like to embarrass you in private–in fact, you turn the most delightful colors and sputter charmingly–but I don’t embarrass or put down my employees in public, much less my spouse!”

“You didn’t tell me about it, I had no idea how to react, and then you said it was a TEST of what I would do!”

Jim froze. Memories of all the trick questions, and attempts to set him up to fail flashed through his mind. “Oh…”

John looked dubiously at him, “Oh?”

“No, it wasn’t a trick, or a test… like that… I was just honestly curious about how you would react. There wasn’t a… There wasn’t a ‘wrong answer’, or a ‘gotcha’… Is that what you meant?”

John slowly lost some of the tension in his shoulders. “That’s what it seemed like.”

“You… thought it was a loyalty test… or a set up to put you down… or something…” Jim sighed and pulled John in abruptly onto his lap. “I guess it’s closer to Sherly setting up an experiment just to see what happens, darling: we’re both pretty messed up, aren’t we.”

John found himself relaxing into his Alpha despite his stress. “Yeah… and it’s not like I have any… normal relationships to go by.”

“I would love nothing more than eventually rubbing Mycroft’s nose in the fact that he didn’t sniff you out,” Jim nuzzled into John’s hair and mouthed down his neck, “but I would never risk you, not even for that.”

John smiled a bit and leaned into Jim, tilting his neck to give him access to the Bond bite. “I can sympathize with wanting to get one up on a Holmes–especially THAT Holmes–even without… but only if I’m actually involved–don’t spring it on me at the same time.”

Jim licked the mark and pulled his head back, looking into John’s eyes solemnly. “I’m a terrible person, I change my plans on a moment’s notice, and I have to react instantly to changing circumstances… but I’ll try, okay?”

John took a deep breath, “Okay.” Then he smiled, “But try not to startle me too much or I’ll punch you: it’s only fair, I punched Sherlock.”

“Take your ring off first, then, my face is too pretty.”

“Wanker.”

“Come on, let’s finish our shopping. I have a sudden urge for ice cream and sprinkles.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile Sherlock and Mycroft ...

Sherlock was shown into a closed meeting room deep inside a building that ostensibly held accounting offices, but in reality… well… there were a lot of different things that needed “accounting” in the British Government, and Mycroft handled about half of them.

“Not one bit of this leaves this room.” Mycroft put down a file–a very thick file.

Sherlock looked at him carefully. “You didn’t know everything your people did either, did you?”

Mycroft sat down and kept his eyes on his tea. “No. I was… negligent in that. I am frankly surprised…”

“That things aren’t worse?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock sat in silence and went through the report. By the end of it, he was shaking with rage and had to take another dose of his tranquilizer. He stood up without a word and left.

Mycroft slowly gathered up the reports and stared off into nothing… It was no wonder Moriarty wanted to destroy Sherlock after that, destroy them both… He prayed Watson could continue–somehow–to moderate things.

He increased his surveillance on the tailors; as it happened, he didn’t need to: he got a very carefully and suspiciously timed ‘anonymous tip’ that Moriarty would be back on a specific day. He obviously couldn’t trust his people: he would have to deal with this himself.

…

Mycroft stepped out of his car, nerves practically vibrating. He’d been warned that there was at least one sniper spotted; probably there were more. He could only hope that Moriarty didn’t want to lose his tailors, either.

He walked into the shop. It wasn’t Moriarty’s typical tailors–and a far cry from Westwood–far, far more like something Mycroft might wear or… or yes, an upscale version of what Watson would wear. He spoke quietly to one of the salesmen and the man went into the tailoring rooms.

After a relatively short amount of time, Moriarty came out. Mycroft looked him over, trying to maintain his cool demeanor, but… he looked much better. _He was moving freely and easily again; how had I missed the limited motion when we released him? He looked very much like he had the upper hand–which, sadly, he did._

“Contemplating a change of tailors, Mikey?” Moriarty walked up into his personal space, far too close.

Mycroft resolved to stay calm and stick to business. “You brought Doctor Watson here again.”

“Of course. You of all people know how many fittings it takes. I’m rushing things a bit as it is,” he said, playing it innocent–as though this was simply about clothes. Mycroft wanted to stab him, although a small part of him admired the man’s aplomb.

“Why?” Mycroft bit back any number of questions: _Why didn’t you kill him? Why didn’t you kill Sherlock? Why?_ “Why bother?”

“All of my people are impeccably dressed, Mycroft: you know that.” Moriarty was still far too close. The scent of Alpha and Moriarty’s expensive cologne set Mycroft’s teeth on edge.

No Alpha liked being in close proximity to another Alpha, unless they were very close comrades–or related–and even Sherlock and he grated. Moriarty was standing right in his space, challenging by proximity. He was smaller and Mycroft once again fought down the urge to engage in dominance displays; instead he forced himself to return to the topic of Watson. “You could return him.”

“I could,” he laughed. “But I have to admit, Sherlock had good taste in live-in ones. I’ve gotten rather fond of him.”

“This is a lot of trouble for someone who will just be left in scattered pieces when you get tired of him.” _Or, more likely, when you’ve wrung as much pain out of Sherlock as you can with his captivity and start returning him in pieces_.

Moriarty sighed in a put-upon fashion, “Tedious. Truly, Mycroft, you are very tedious. Ask me a question, say something worth listening to, or get out.”

“What are you planning?”

“None of your concern, unless you make it so.”

“Doctor Watson is my brother’s concern, and thus mine–”

“If your brother has any concerns, he can talk to me himself. I understand his reputation has recovered.”

Before Mycroft could ask anything more, Moriarty shrugged in a dismissive fashion. “As to you? The last time I spent any time in your company you couldn’t even provide decent tea, so we have nothing to discuss.” He turned away. “Your brother, at least, serves tea.”

Mycroft’s hand tightened on his umbrella but he spun on his heel and walked out. He tried to get his temper reined in, and when he got back to the car he took another dose of his tranquilizer. The scent of Alpha had been getting stronger: Moriarty must have been more upset than he was letting on; a cool part of Mycroft’s mind analyzed the patterns even as he closed his eyes in the car.

_Wait..._

_Moriarty had a very mild scent, normally? Was that…_ He wore scent blockers in public, but even in interrogation his scent had been mild–mostly the scent of pain and hurt–and now that he knew what his men had done, he was even more impressed by his response…

They’d assumed a weak Alpha, based on his scent and his responses to the Omega pheromones they’d used…

_But his scent was MUCH stronger now…_

Mycroft continued to puzzle it in his mind as he worked. He put in a request for the blood tests on James Moriarty before he left for the night and put it out of his mind.

..

The next day he went over Moriarty’s medical results in between meetings. Yes, his hormone levels were definitely Alpha, but on the low end of the scale. The medical people, based on that and his response to Omega Pheromones, had diagnosed him as a low Alpha–barely more than a Beta.

_It certainly explained his playing the role of “Jim from IT”–a…_

Mycroft frowned again. _But if that was the case, why did he never back DOWN? Ever? If he really WAS a low ranked Alpha, he should have crumpled when confronted with an Alpha like Sherlock or himself…_

Alright, it didn’t make sense. Therefore something in the data was missing or incorrect. He’d seen the results of pumping in Omega pheromones himself, and he’d smelled the man before–his scent was much stronger and very dominant…

Mycroft sank more deeply into his mind and called up the precise scent…

He sat up abruptly. _Bonded! He hadn’t been Bonded before–he was now! But… his scent wasn’t just stronger and more confident from Bonding, it was stronger, and…_

Mycroft called Sherlock.

“Why are you bothering to call me, Mycroft?” Sherlock growled on the line.

“Sherlock… this is important”

“You always think it’s important.”

“Moriarty took John to the tailors again, and I went.”

“Is he alright?”

“I didn’t see him, but … the cameras showed him unharmed.” Mycroft remembered the subdued and captive Watson on the video leaving the tailors and resolved to never, EVER, let Sherlock see that. “When you dealt with Moriarty… how did he smell?”

“What?”

“It’s important, Sherlock.”

“Like a Beta?” Sherlock sighed. “Until you told me he was an Alpha, I had no idea–not from the lab, certainly.”

“He smelled like a Beta, or… did he smell of a lot of neutral scent blockers?”

“No. He smelled like a Beta, and a bit of cologne…” Sherlock’s mind caught on the idea. “He can’t be that weak though or he would have backed down, and… he smelled of Alpha when we had tea… it was weak… but he kept throwing me challenging gestures and posturing like a dominant Alpha.”

“You’re the chemist, brother. His blood tests read low Alpha, his scent was mild… but he ACTS dominant–and today? Today his scent was a strong Dominant under a scent blocker, and… he was Bonded.”

“What?!” Sherlock sat up.

“It took me a while, but I’m fairly certain that, in addition to a stronger Alpha scent, he smelled like he was Bonded.” Mycroft paused. “His body language was calmer as well, both on the video of the last trip and when I saw him in person.”

“Bonded…?” Sherlock muttered, “And his scent was so weak… his hormones were low?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have his complete blood workup? Not the reports I saw, the full blood tests?”

“I can get them…”

“Send them to me.”

…

It was the next day before they could meet again, at the Baker Street flat this time. Sherlock was looking smug–and annoyed.

“In addition to the fact that your interrogators exceeded your authorization, brother mine, you need to fire everyone in the medical department.”

Mycroft sighed, “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” He considered and hazarded a guess: “It’s a fake blood result? He had an agent switch them?”

“Oh, not at all. These are his blood results, but your fools misread it.”

Mycroft sat back with a headache starting. “Explain?”

“He was on Alpha suppressants.”

Mycroft’s mouth dropped open and he stared. “Alpha… suppressants? But those…”

Sherlock just oozed joy at having figured it out before Mycroft. “Are usually only given to Alphas who are dangerously violent or in prison… but there’s nothing stopping an Alpha from taking it voluntarily.”

“It would keep his temper in check…”

“It would cause problems for him if he was on them long term, but it also explains why pumping Omega hormones into his cell only aggravated him.”

Mycroft sat back. “If he Bonded, though, he would have had to go off of them…”

“At least for a while, yes, and if his hormones settled after Bonding he wouldn’t need them anyway,” Sherlock nodded. “All of which explains why you smelled him this time, and his scent was so much stronger…” Sherlock smiled. “And why John is safer.”

Mycroft sat forward. “What? Why…?”

“First, because his hormones have settled and he isn’t on long term suppressants to do it! He’s much more stable just from that–many Alphas do settle a great deal after Bonding, in any case.”

“You think that may make him… less violent?”

“Entirely likely. I also think he has a very good reason to keep John in good shape.”

Mycroft stared at him and then slowly let out a breath. “Of course… He could hardly trust his Omega to just any doctor…”

Sherlock nodded. “It would be a weakness that any of the other criminals would be delighted to exploit, and you wouldn’t hesitate to use his Omega against him–”

Mycroft winced. “I might threaten, but… no matter what you think of me, Sherlock I would hardly hurt some poor, witless, innocent Omega!”

Sherlock looked dubious but nodded slowly. “However, it is an incentive to keep Doctor Watson, and keep him in good health as well.”

Mycroft nodded, “Of course.”

Sherlock sighed and sat back, “The only thing that confuses me is why he would ever want to Bond at all?”

“Well,” Mycroft shrugged, “as you said, long term suppressant use…”

“True, I suppose having to put up with some stupid Omega is less obnoxious than the side effects of long term Alpha suppressants.” Sherlock handed back all the paperwork. “But fire every last one of the incompetents–or, better yet, have them shot.”

Mycroft put the papers away and stood to leave.  “This gives me a better excuse to do just that than I had with them exceeding my authorization.”

Sherlock just nodded slowly. “I still think what you authorized was well beyond anything you discussed with me; what actually happened was well beyond even that; and the results have been…” Sherlock bit back several words. “I’m extremely angry.”

Mycroft nodded and left.

Sherlock stared at the wall, and looked back at John’s mug–set carefully at his place at the table as if he would be home soon.

“Please be safe, John….” Sherlock hated the idea that John’s safety could rest on some Omega’s continued health: Omegas were such fragile creatures...


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor helpless Omega

John Watson looked up from lecturing one of his patients–he had no idea what the man did for Moriarty; he looked and acted like a shopkeeper–about the importance of actually TAKING his blood pressure medication when there was the sound of a scuffle outside the door. Long-trained reflexes had him push the man behind a table and draw his gun before they kicked the door in.

Three men–two armed with knives, one with a gun–burst in and John shot them before they cleared the door. He threw a chair into the fourth man he could see trying to take down one of his guards: it hit him in the back, which bought the guard enough time to get clear before John shot that one, too.

“Clear, Doc… but Larry is down and I’m hurt.”

John came out and started applying pressure to Larry’s worst injuries, and tossed a pad and bandages to Sam.

John called Sebastian while he worked on Larry, “Scramble this location, two injured of ours, four dead of theirs.”

“Jesus! Are you alright, Doc?!”

“Fine, so’s my patient, but Larry will need a hospital,” John said calmly as he worked.

“Scrambling.”

Sebastian started everything in motion to evacuate John and close that location: he was betting on it being a rival crime boss, not Mycroft, but you never could be sure.

When they evacuated the lot of them, John insisted on staying with the two guards until they got Larry dropped off at a hospital and Sam someplace he could finish stitching him up. According to Sam, the Doc had taken the lot of them out almost single-handedly.

“You better shower and change, Doc, before I take you home,” Sebastian said quietly once it was just them. “Jim has been texting me nonstop, fretting that you were hurt.”

John smiled, “Really? While it’s nice that he cares, it’s not–”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Four-to-one odds in a closed room, especially when you didn’t expect it, is still a big deal for anyone. I think he’s worried that you were so wrapped up about Larry and Sam that you downplayed your own injuries. If I return you covered in blood…”

“Point.”

They stopped at a safehouse and John cleaned up and changed–Sebastian bagged up his clothes to see if they could be cleaned up–and John called Jim on route back.

“Are you alright?” Jim sounded angry, which John was beginning to recognize as “frightened”.

“I’m fine, just a bit of adrenaline… and do I have to remind you that I like adrenaline?” John smiled into the phone.

“Really? I’m going to check you over when you get home, you know, so if you’re hurt…”

“I’m fine, although a better shower would be nice: I had patients bleeding on me.” He hurriedly added, “Sebastian took us to a safehouse for a quick cleanup, but it obviously was just a quick shower.”

“…Alright.” Jim let out a sigh and then chuckled, “So how many of the poor, helpless Betas did you take down?”

“Three and a half.”

“Half?”

“Sam was knife fighting one and I threw a chair at him and then shot him once Sam was out of the line of fire, but Sam had already wounded him.”

John could almost hear Jim grin. “Now, John, what did I tell you about remembering your place as a weak and helpless Omega?”

John laughed, “Don’t?”

“I’ll see you at home.”

…

Jim insisted on watching him strip for the shower, and checked him for any injuries, before sadly admitting that he had to deal with finding out who was behind this.

“I’m fine, really!” John said, holding out his arms and turning so Jim could see him again before he showered off.

Jim paused. “I don’t think it was Mycroft’s boys: too sloppy.”

John walked up and bared his neck at him. “It wasn’t, they were just common thugs, and I’m fine.”

Jim slid his arms around him and pressed his nose into the crook of his neck. “I… worry.”

“Well, I’m fine. You go deal with business. I want a long hot shower, and then later you can check me all over again in bed.”

Jim grinned, “Oh, I plan to…”

When John finished toweling off and went into the bedroom for clothes, he found a note and a phone.

“I’ll be a bit busy darling, but… if you want to call Sherlock you can, I won’t even listen, but keep it short. I’m… trusting you.”

John stared at the letter for a long time.

After a while, he picked up the phone and dialed…

And dialed again…

And again…

By the time Sherlock finally answered, John didn’t know whether to laugh or yell at him.

“Who is it and what do you want?” Sherlock snapped on the line.

“And a lovely day to you too, Sherlock…”

“John?” Sherlock’s voice softened immediately. “Are you… are you alright?”

“I’m fine, really.” John sat down on the bed. “Are you? Please tell me you aren’t experimenting with chemicals near the food?”

“Errr….”

“You are, aren’t you?” John sighed and lay back against the headboard, keeping an eye on his watch. “Don’t. Anyway, I have limited time on the phone and I wanted to see if you were alright.”

“I’m not the captive of that lunatic!” Sherlock sounded annoyed. _Oh shit, it IS just like Jim: he’s scared!_

“He’s…” John tried to balance Jim’s privacy against Sherlock’s concern. “He’s not as bad as he was, and he… he has been reasonable to me–I can’t explain it.”

“I… understand. Mycroft saw him at the tailors…”

“I know, I was there. I heard a lot of it.” John paused. “Do you know what he did?”

“I didn’t before; I do now.”

“I’ve been trying to explain that you weren’t party to it–that’s… that’s why he started going after you. Can you try to talk to him?”

“Give him the phone?”

“I can’t right now, I have a few minutes unsupervised with you. I meant can you text him?”

“Unsuper– Can you tell me where you are?”

“No. I’m safe, but believe me; it wouldn’t be safe at all if your brother’s men charged in.”

“Ah… no. It wouldn’t.” Sherlock paused. “Was he hurting you badly before? Do… do you need anything?”

“What?”

“The last time you called. He was hurting you…”

“Oh… uh… Honestly, it was… No, he wasn’t hurting me.” John was quite certain his face was beet red. “It was more… He was distracting me, mostly.” And then he added, “But I would REALLY rather not talk about that. How is everyone? Mrs. Hudson? Greg? Molly?”

“They’re all fine.”

“Please take care of yourself, I worry… and I have to go.”

“I worry about you, John.”

“There is no need to worry about me at all, Sherlock. The main danger I’m in is your brother trying something–or maybe other criminals–and me getting caught in the cross fire. I miss you, and please take care of yourself.” John forced himself to hang up.

He lay on the bed for a while, but eventually he changed into gym clothes and went down to work out. When he came back up to change for dinner, Jim was there.

“Darling,” Jim smiled. “Thank you for keeping it brief… Was he a problem?”

John smiled despite himself. “He’s doing chemistry experiments near his food again: he’s going to poison himself someday.”

“Or burn the flat down,” Jim nodded. “It is why he was moving when you met him.”

“What?”

“He’s burned down at least one flat–well, caused fire and smoke damage, if not burned down–and been thrown out of two or three for ‘bad smells’, which could be chemistry or could be body parts.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“I’ve been watching him for a while.” Jim shrugged. “You… Well, you seem to have made a difference.”

“I made him eat and I replaced the milk when it curdled, at least,” John laughed. “He burned down…” John shook his head slowly.

Jim moved up and started running hands over him and nosing into his neck. “You did what you had to Darling, but… if there is an option, please run away?”

“There wasn’t an option,” John said inhaling the scent of Alpha: _worried, pleased, sexy Alpha._

“I know. Larry will be alright, but they want him in observation for a while, and Sam is going to get a bonus and vacation…” Jim nipped at his neck. “And I want to throw you on the bed and fuck your brains out, but I think I should feed you first…”

John was muttering, “Yeah, we should eat,” and licking his neck… _which… wasn’t helping…_

“Did my poor, helpless Omega break a nail?” Jim murmured into his ear, and then bit it. “Should I kiss it and make it better?”

“I think I bruised something lower than my neck…” John gasped and started moving toward the bed: Jim helped.

“I should check…” Jim panted as he pulled the gym gear off of him and pushed him down.

“Can’t be too careful…” John pulled Alpha down onto the bed with him. “You know how fragile Omegas are…”

“I’ll just have to lick you allll over to be certain,” Jim purred at him.

John started licking at Jim’s collarbone and then Jim did something delicious with his hands and John bit him without thinking.

 _Oh, dear God, did I really just BITE an Alpha?_ John snuck a quick glance up. “Sorry?”

Jim grinned down at him, “Who wants some passive silly little Omega anyway? I LIKE dangerous things…” Jim moved down and started nipping and sucking at John’s nipples and his brain decided to take a brief vacation.

“We’ll have dinner sent in… I want dessert first.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poor fragile things...

John was kept closer to Jim’s stronger holdings, while Jim tried to work out who was mad enough to try to attack not only one of Jim’s people, but his doctor. Apparently doctors were normally off limits, even in most gang fights–or at least they weren’t targeted deliberately.

Two days later John managed another phone call to Sherlock.

“Hello Sherlock,” John said as soon as the phone picked up. “Please don’t yell about phone calls?”

“John?” Sherlock’s voice pivoted form annoyed to delighted. “You called again? You’re alright?”

“I’m fine. Jim’s… there’s some kind of gang fight going on and I got threatened so I’m actually a bit bored.”

“Gang fight?”

“Jim was letting me treat some people, and… some gang or another burst in. I don’t think it was Mycroft’s people: they were sloppy, but they tried to kill everyone–including me.”

Sherlock’s voice edged into panic, “Are you hurt?!”

John smiled, “No… it was… it was kind of fun; if I hadn’t been worried about my patient and my guards… it would have been great.”

There was silence on the line and then a muffled snort. “You’re wasted being a Beta, John: you’re more Alpha than anyone I know.”

“Nah… Alphas forget to take care of themselves and eat, and they can’t make tea.” John laughed, and then questioned, “You ARE eating? I worry about you.”

“I worry about YOU!”

“Yes, well… You can make my life better by taking care of yourself. I… I can try to get Jim to let me visit in person, if you can keep Mycroft well away? But it will be tricky…”

“I… would feel better if I could see you. I worry about what he’s doing…”

“He’s about as aggravating as you are, now that he’s… settled a bit. I can’t discuss it.”

“Mycroft told me.”

That was the second time he’d said something like that, but… then Jim walked in and John smiled, “I have to go Sherlock… try to eat?”

“The tea is terrible; you make the best tea,” Sherlock said the compliment grumpily.

Jim held out his hand for the phone.

“Hang on, Jim wants on the line.” John handed the phone over.

~

“Sherly!” Jim’s bright, cheerful voice. “Do tell me you are eating? Johnny Boy worries so.”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “Jim… I understand why you need him–Mycroft told me you were bonded–but–”

“What?!” Jim’s voice got flat and deep and suddenly it was VERY evident he was an Alpha.

“Mycroft could smell you… at the tailors.” Sherlock tried to keep his voice steady and calm. “You were Bonded. He was confused and had me look at your blood tests–Alpha suppressants, clearly.”

“Oh Sherly, I always knew I liked you…” Jim was rumbling, almost purring, down the line. “You and your brother were always FAR too clever.”

“I don’t see why you would bother with an Omega, but I suppose it’ less trouble than suppressants…”

“You don’t…?” Jim’s voice took on a puzzled edge “Don’t see why I would bother with an Omega? Well, I certainly wouldn’t bother with a typical one.”

“John isn’t trained to handle Omega medical needs, Jim,” Sherlock said, keeping his voice as calm as possible. “I understand you need a doctor for your Omega–they’re fragile–but… surely there are other people? I swear, I won’t so much as look at a case that involves you–”

Jim made a coughing choking noise and said “Hold on” in a strangled voice and the line clicked.

“Jim? Jim?!”

Nothing. Sherlock growled into the phone and waited.

~

Jim barely managed to put Sherlock on hold before he fell over laughing.

John sighed and hauled him up off the floor. “What was that about not bothering with an Omega?”

Jim tried to answer, looked up at his “fragile Omega”, and fell down laughing again.

“Fragile!” Jim finally gasped. “Omega’s are so FRAGILE!” He wheezed and held his ribs. “Johnny boy, you shouldn’t hit the Alpha that hard, you might break a nail!”

It took a bit to get it all under control, but Jim prided himself on his acting. He switched the phone on and tried not to look at John glaring at him because he’d giggle.

“Sorry, Sherly… As it happens my poor, fragile Omega wanted to talk to their Doctor… so Johnny had to go tend to them.” Jim saw confusion on John’s face and barely stopped laughing.

“I understand you need a secure doctor,” Sherlock was saying through gritted teeth, “but surely John isn’t the only one available?”

“But I’ve gotten to LIKE Johnny! And he’s an excellent doctor. I’m letting him treat a few of my people in addition to my,” he glanced at John, “Omega.” He saw John’s eyes widen as the realization hit him. “Besides, he’s a nice hostage and Mycroft is annoying.”

“Mycroft didn’t supervise your interrogation sufficiently. Even he didn’t know everything they did, although what he authorized was FAR beyond anything I knew about.”

“Well… why don’t you just pass on to dear Mycroft that Johnny boy is apparently trained to handle extraction of people who have been tortured, so he turns out to be an excellent doctor for me–as well as my Omega.”

Jim spoke over Sherlock’s protests, “But you’re quite right, I should get Johnny more training in Omega medicine. Ta!”

And he hung up…

And grinned like a fiend at John. “Mycroft and Sherlock think I’m keeping you to take care of my poor, fragile Omega…”

“Oh, you’re KIDDING!”

“Nope!” Jim got up and prowled over to John. “So, should I be gentler with you? You poor, helpless thing?”

“You start treating me like I’m made of glass and I’ll punch you again.”

Jim grinned and pounced.

John rolled with it and threw him over his shoulder. Jim chased him around the room before finally cornering him and pinning him to the ground. John snarled and bit him in the shoulder… and fought him every step of the way to the bed, stopping only once they were pinned together.

…but he never used his safeword…

Unless “Fuck me harder you bastard: fragile Omega my fucking ASS!” was a safeword.

~

Mycroft’s phone rang, hung up almost immediately, and rang again. “Problem, brother mine?”

“I got a call from John, and I spoke to Jim, and none of it makes sense.”

“Explain.”

Sherlock went over it, including Jim’s initial upset at being found out, and confusion and then amusement over Sherlock’s comments on Omegas.

“Well, obviously he’s BONDED, Sherlock… he… will…” Mycroft paused. “If he isn’t a complete sociopath, he will have developed some fondness for the poor creature; and, as we already noted, his hormones will be settling down, making him less… volatile…”

“Ugh,” Sherlock shuddered.

“It might do YOU some good to be Bonded, but I have no idea what poor Omega I would put in your keeping.”

“You’re the upright, responsible one, Mycroft: it’s up to you to carry on the family line–I certainly don’t plan to… and doubly not with an Omega… the hormones melt your brain.”

“Well… it may be to our advantage to have Moriarty Bonded… he may settle.”

“He HAS settled, in case you haven’t noticed!” Sherlock snorted. “In any case, he thought it was very amusing that I called Omegas fragile, so apparently he thinks his, at least, isn’t: he did say he wouldn’t want a typical one. I hope that means John isn’t dealing with something too frail.”

“I can’t imagine a particularly fragile Omega surviving to Bond with him, but I admit to bias. What else?”

“He… said John was trained to extract victims of torture, and he was treating Jim.”

Mycroft hesitated. “That could be very good or very bad.”

“Oh BRILLIANT, Mycroft,” Sherlock snorted. “Shall we continue stating the obvious? In any event, I had pointed out that John had no specialized Omega medicine training and he… seemed inclined to have him get some… but… before he went off-line, John sounded… he sounded good.”

“Well… that’s something.”

“He said he might be able to see me in person if you… didn’t interfere.” Sherlock’s voice set, “Don’t do anything to risk him, Mycroft–I’m quite serious.”

“Until or unless Moriarty starts acting against my interests again? I did agree to… an unspoken truce.”

“Well, perhaps you should arrange a spoken one.”

Mycroft just sighed; his brother didn’t understand politics–never had and likely never would. “Good day, Sherlock.”

Sherlock hung up, leaving Mycroft to contemplate.

_There were too many Omegas to brute force the question, but… Moriarty had thought it amusing that they were fragile, so… an unusually sturdy or strong one? Perhaps one of the Omega Rights types? Perhaps one of the Omega rights activists had… crossed his business and been captured… and he decided not to sell them? Because he … wanted to go off the suppressants?_

_It didn’t fit, somehow._

Mycroft started going over reports of missing Omegas, and notable Omegas who hadn’t been seen lately: he was appalled at how high the number turned out to be in England alone…

_This warranted looking into._


End file.
